Different City Same Old Crap
by ordinaryguy2
Summary: Mick St. John meets the Scoobies. A Buffy / Angel / Kindred: The Embraced / Moonlight crossover.  This story is written by Carycomic. I've just posting it. Remember to read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**Different City/Same Old Crap**

by Carycomic

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own or profit from it.

Synopsis: Angel has to pull up stakes (no pun intended) when he slays the wrong vampire. A post-BTVS Season 3 crossover with KINDRED: THE EMBRACED and MOONLIGHT (pre-Season 1).

Chapter 1.

The name is Mick St. John. Private investigator by trade; vampire by accident.

You read that right. Back in the late 1940's, I met a woman named Coraline who was like no woman I had ever seen before. A sultry, exotic brunette whom I eventually married. And, who vampirized me on our wedding night!

I suppose that was her way of trying to keep Death from doing us apart. But, be that as it may, my new lease on life has not been without its drawbacks. Although, I know a guy named Angel who makes me look like I've been living on Easy Street. Let me tell you about him.

I met him in the spring of 1999. And, you might say I was introduced to him through Josef Kostan. Josef is the primogen, or leader, of the local Toreador Clan. So, I was surprised when he paid me a rare visit at my office. During the daytime, no less!

Now, contrary to popular belief, not all vampires are solar-intolerant. Some do disintegrate, immediately, when exposed to sunlight. Others can withstand limited amounts of it. It all depends on what kind of vampire sires you. Josef and I were of the latter type. The only reason I was surprised to see him out and about, in broad daylight, is due to his being such a party-animal. Even _before_ he was vampirized!

"Josef! To do what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"I need your help, Mick. In an official capacity."

"Ooh! That sounds ominous."

Josef sat down opposite my desk; an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face.

"I'm serious, Mick. Tell me; what do you know about...the Order of Aurelius?"

"I only know 'em by reputation," I replied. "They're an antitribu cult. Named for the Malkavian who founded them. Although, there's been a lot of scuttlebutt, the last couple years, about they're finally having been wiped out, somewhere near Santa Barbara."

"I don't know about the rest of them," said Josef: "But, twenty-four hours ago, one of them offed Russell Winters. Fried him, in fact. Without sanction. And, in front of mortal witnesses!"

My eyes went wider than an anime character. Russell Winters was the primogen of the local Ventrue Clan! Which also made him the chief money launderer for Cyrus, the Brujah Prince of the City, to boot.

"Has he called for a bloodhunt?"

Josef nodded: "And, the Conclave's agreed. Still, if the vamp in question is half as smart as I've heard he is, he's already blown town. Probably for Frisco."

"Then, maybe he's not as smart as you think he is," I replied.

What Cyrus of the Brujah Clan was to L.A., Julian Luna of the Ventrue Clan was to San Francisco. And, their on-again/off-again feud with each other was practically legendary in the Vampire Community.

"If Luna gives this guy political asylum, Cyrus will finally have a legit excuse to declare war against him."

Josef nodded: "Which would endanger the Masquerade even worse than what Angel did."

"Angel?" I echoed.

"The vamp in question. He used to be called 'Angelus!' But, nowadays, he just goes by 'Angel.' "

"I see. And, what am I to do, if and when I find Angel?"

"Give him this."

Josef took something out of his jacket's left-inside pocket. He threw it on top of my desk, and I picked it up.

"An open-ended, one-way airline ticket to Japan?"

"Cyrus has a lot of pull on this coast. The only safe place for Angel is west of the International Date Line. So, what do you say, Mick?"

I grinned. It was too good an opening to resist.

"I say: 'San Francisco? Open your Golden Gate.' "

**tbc**

"San Francisco (Open Your Golden Gate)" by Kahn/Kaper/Jurmann

copyright 1961 (EMI Music Publishing)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"San Francisco, open your Golden Gate.

You'll let nobody wait outside your door."

Angel listened to the old Judy Garland classic as he lay in the trunk of his 1967 Plymouth GTX convertible. Cordelia Chase was listening to it, on the radio, as she handled the diurnal portion of the long drive up from Los Angeles. And, that, in turn, prompted him to once more replay the events of the past twelve hours in his mind's eye.

He had slammed the stranger into the alley wall. Pinning him there by his throat, which was tightly clamped in Angel's right hand. To further establish his dominance in the matter, Angel put on his "game face" (as Buffy had liked to phrase it).

"Who are you? Why are you following me?"

"The name's...Doyle," the stranger rasped in reply: "And, I...came...to warn ya!"

"About what?"

"There's been...a bloodhunt...called...against ya."

Angel was so startled, he let his grip slip. Allowing the dark-haired Irishman to fall to the ground. And, while the latter coughed and massaged his throat, Angel's face resumed its human-looking state.

"A bloodhunt? You're crazy. Who'd call a bloodhunt against me?"

"The entire Los Angeles Conclave. For fryin' Russell Winters like ya did."

"I don't believe it. That bastard tried to Embrace Cordie against her will! "

"Doesn't matter. T'was still an unsanctioned Final Death, of a Ventrue primogen, in front of mortal witnesses! The Conclave ruled that an intolerable endangerment of the Masquerade. Every Kindred in L.A. will now be lookin' for ya. Which, as I see it, leaves ya just two choices. Walkin' into the sunrise, tomorrow mornin'..."

Angel's reply was immediate and unequivocal: "I am NOT frying myself over someone like Winters!"

"...or leave town, tonight," Doyle finished (indicating, with a nod, correct anticipation of how Angel would answer).

It was Cordelia, with her well-honed expertise at pointing out other people's flaws, who observed that "...if you do leave, it's a cinch you can't return to Sunnydale!"

"I know," said Angel: "Not even Buffy could stand up to a small army of bloodhunters."

It was at that point that Doyle had recommended fleeing to San Francisco.

"The Kindred Prince of that city is Julian Luna of the Ventrue Clan. And, he has no great love for the Brujah Clan, in general. Nor for Prince Cyrus, in particular! So, he _might_ be willin' to give the three of us political asylum."

"The three of us?" echoed Cordelia.

"Well, my life is certainly forfeit for warnin' ya. And, with all due respect, Miss? The Conclave blames ya _both_ for what happened to Winters."

"But, I can't leave!" she protested: "I just got here. I'm trying to start a film career, for Pete's sake! "

"Cordie," sighed Angel (massaging the bridge of his nose): "If the bloodhunters catch up with you, you'll most likely wind up typecast as a vampire-movie actress. For all eternity! "

"Oooooooooooh!" she replied, her clenched fists quivering with indecision: "Oh, all right! Let's get going. Now! Before I change my mind."

With that, the trio was on their way northward, via the Pacific Coast Highway, in less than an hour.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.

My first stop was the morgue at LAPD Headquarters. One of the night shift attendants was a fellow vampire named Guillermo Gasol. In addition to his official duties, he also drained the blood from all the unclaimed bodies, and distributed it to all the Kindred in the Greater Los Angeles area. Of course, those of us with...special preferences...had to wait slightly longer for our beverage of choice. As that required him going to other sources.

The upside to that, of course, was the gossip he picked up from those other sources.

"Hola, Miguel!" he called out, as I entered: "Que paso?"

"I need some special info, G. What can you tell me about an Aurelian Order vamp who calls himself...Angel?"

"Santa Mierda! Why're you lookin' for him, Mick? That dude is trouble."

"Big trouble?"

"Frig, yeah! Back in the day, he was called 'The Scourge of Europe.' And, just recently? He helped the current Slayer smoke the Master Aurelian, himself! "

"Really?" I said (half-pretending surprise): "When did that happen?"

"Summer before last, in some hick town up in Santa Barbara County. Sunnyville (or something like that)."

"Thanks, Guillermo. I'll see you around."

"Hey! Don't you want to take your cow's blood, while you're here?"

I shrugged: "Why not?"

When I got back to my car, I checked the Triple-A map in my glove compartment. Sure enough; there was a "Sunnydale" listed in the alpha-numeric section for Santa Barbara County. So, that would be my next stop.

As I drove along, though, I pondered what Guillermo had told me. A member of the Aurelians turning against his own order? To help a Slayer? That bit of information had definitely _not_ been part of the second-hand rumors I had heard floating around for the past two years! So, at the last second, I decided to make a detour.

To a little nightclub called Caritas.

WOLFRAM & HART

(ATTYS-AT-LAW)

LOS ANGELES BRANCH

Lilah Morgan opened the beige folder.

"According to our records, he's done a lot of work for our other offices. Mostly, as a bill collector. He comes highly recommended by the Order of Teraka, itself. And, most importantly? He's an old rival of Angel's. Their last encounter being a fight to the draw, down in Mexico, during the Roaring Twenties."

Holland Manners smiled: "Excellent! It always produces more satisfactory results when one of our employees can mix business with pleasure."

Lindsey McDonald was a little more dubious: "Isn't this a conflict of interest? I mean, our clients want him dead! As in; _completely and permanently_! "

The branch manager shook his head: "Our first loyalty is to the will of the Senior Partners. And, in this case? It's their will that Angel remain _undead_ and kicking."

"Shall I bring him in then?" asked Lilah.

Manners nodded.

"Gentlemen?" began Lilah, standing up: "Allow me to introduce..."

"Skip the formalities!" exclaimed the figure in the black Stetson hat and khaki trench coat, as he entered Manners' office. Doffing the hat, he looked each lawyer straight in the eye. Revealing a humanoid face that was mostly purple in color! That is; except for a vaguely raccoon-like mask around his own eyes.

"Just call me ' Boone.' "

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**CLUB CARITAS, LOS ANGELES**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

"Don't let your friends say you have no taste.

Go ahead and marry, anyway.

So, her face is ugly. Her eyes don't match.

Take it from me, she's a better catch!"

'If you want to be happy for the rest of your life,

Never make a pretty woman your wife.

So, from my personal point of view,

Get an ugly girl to marry you!"

Lorne opened his eyes, and looked at me.

"OK, Mick! That's enough. Your choice of song clearly shows me you have commitment issues."

"I thought it was supposed to show you images of the person I'm looking for."

"I meant in the psychological sense. Not the sixth sense!"

"I'm not here for marriage counseling, Lorne. I'm here for more info on this Angel character!"

"Alright, alright! Don't bite my head off!"

Krevlorn'swath of the Dethlok Clan was a humanoid demon, from another dimension, who could see into the near-future for anyone who sang to him. I had first met him during a kidnapping case involving a little girl named Beth Turner. And, I had occasionally consulted him ever since.

"He's fled to San Francisco, just as you thought. And, he's not alone. There are two others with him. A very pretty young woman. And, an Irishman who's actually half-demon!"

"Did you see _where_ in Frisco he fled to?"

"Some fleabag hotel in Chinatown. I can draw you the Mandarin ideograms I envisioned on the neon sign. But, I can't, for the life of me, pronounce them!"

"That'll do fine."

Lorne was as good as his word. Although, I wish he had used regular scrap paper (instead of a large cocktail napkin). In any case; as I was leaving the club, Lorne told me one more thing.

"Be careful, Mick! You won't be the only one looking for him."

Lindsey McDonald's fingers nervously drummed on the steering wheel of his gray Ford pickup truck.

"Would you take it easy?" admonished Boone: "Here he comes now."

"This is a bad idea," replied Lindsey: "He's a vampirized ex-cop, for Pete's sake! So, he's bound to notice us tailing him."

"Not with our little jamming device in the back, there."

Boone gestured to the lump underneath the tarpaulin that covered the floor of the pickup's bed.

"OK!" exclaimed Lindsey: "He's pulling out. How much of a head start do we give him?"

"Wait ten seconds," instructed Boone: "Then, go."

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I made another detour. This time, to the Chinatown of Los Angeles, where I had another contact of mine interpret those Mandarin ideograms for me. It turns out that they translate into English as "The House of Lavender Flame." And, when I paid him for his services, I turned my car northward.

My side-trips had cost me some valuable time. So, I knew I wouldn't be getting to San Francisco before dawn. I therefore decided to rest up for the day, at a little place roughly equidistant between there and L.A. A small town that I had begun hearing more about, recently. I exited the highway at a sign that read:

"Sunnydale

Food Phone

Lodging"

**tbc**

"If You Wanna Be Happy..."

by Frank Guida

1963 (SPQR/London Records)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**THE HALFWAY INN**

**SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I signed the registration book at the front desk. And, the night manager gave me the keys to Room 113. As I took them from him, I could smell that he was a vampire. The reverse, of course, was equally true! Which is probably why he said what he said, next.

"If you need a...special flavor...for your breakfast, I'd suggest Willy's Bar, over on Main Street. He gets all kinds of requests."

I nodded: "Good to know. Thanks!"

**THE HOUSE OF LAVENDER FLAME**

**SAN FRANCISCO (12 HOURS LATER)**

Angel opened his eyes while Cordelia was still trying to will her right hand the rest of the way to his left shoulder.

"It's all right, Cordie. I know it's after sundown."

"Oh! Good! Then, maybe you'd be so kind as to tell us what our next move might be?"

"Our next move is to visit that restaurant across the street. Where's Doyle?"

"Right here," said the mysterious Irishman as he came into the Spartanly decorated hotel room.

"So, my car's OK, then?"

"No one came near it, all night."

"Then, let's go get you two something to eat!"

The restaurant was called "The Purple Dragon." And, its headwaitress personally escorted them to a corner booth complete with beaded curtains. She then gave them each a menu before leaving to resume the reservations desk at the front door. Five minutes later, a male waiter (wearing a purple dinner jacket, with black bowtie, slacks, and shoes) came to take their order. Doyle and Cordelia decided to split a pu-pu platter. Angel, however, simply removed a gold chain from around his neck, and asked to see the owner of the restaurant.

The waiter was understandably puzzled: "Is something wrong, sir?"

"Just show this to Lee Pow IV, and tell him it's from an old friend of the family."

He held up the necklace so the waiter could get a good look at its centerpiece: a fragment of onyx set in a gold circle. With a blood-red sigil painted on top of it. And, the whole of it curiously carved to resemble a bare human foot!

The waiter's eyes bulged in shocked recognition for a second. Then, he excused himself and went to carry out Angel's request, Doyle and Cordelia looked at each other in puzzlement. But, Angel held up his right hand and shook his head. Clearly indicating that he would not be answering any questions right that second.

Lee Pow IV did not keep them waiting long.

"Where did you get this?" he bluntly demanded, in the harshest of whispers.

"A hundred years ago," replied Angel: "I saved your great-grandfather from being overthrown, as rightful head of the Scarfoot Tong. In return, he pledged me the eternal gratitude of his entire house! All I needed, back then, was passage to China for myself and three others. Yet, now? I _must_ ask another favor. Will you dishonor your great-grandfather's house, and memory, by refusing me?"

The restaurateur glowered at him. Then, he threw the necklace back at Angel (who caught it with no difficulty).

"What do you want?" asked the former.

"An audience with the Ventrue Prince of the City. Nothing more. Do that for me, and I-probably-won't bother your family for another four generations."

"I will see what I can do," replied Lee Pow IV: "But, unlike my great-grandfather, I make no promises!"

"Fair enough."

The restaurateur bowed and left.

"What is that thing?" Cordelia now asked.

"It's the Medallion of the Scarred Foot," said Angel: "Previously handed down only from father to son within the tong leader's family."

"Then, how did you wind up with it?"

"Lee Pow the Great, himself, gave it to me. After removing it from the right hand of his would-be usurper. His eldest son."

**tbc**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**WILLY'S BAR, SUNNYDALE  
MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

It was one hour past sundown when I parked my Mercedes Fintail convertible down the block from the bar's entrance. As I walked inside, it was like a scene from a Western movie. Everybody in the place turned to look at me! The only thing missing was the nervous piano player who stops playing in mid-note.

A couple seconds later, they resumed their respective conversations.

The place was like Caritas, only seedier. Only half the customers were human. As was Willy the Bartender, himself. And, I noticed, right away, that he was wearing a black armband on the right sleeve of his shirt.

"My condolences!" I said: "Who died?"

"Our mayor," he replied: "Dick Wilkins. He and several dozen others were killed by a gas leak explosion over at the local high school, during graduation ceremonies."

"Well, hopefully, he didn't suffer," I said, trying to be polite.

"What'll you have, stranger?"

"A Bovine Mary."

He arched his eyebrows: "You a vegetarian?"

I smiled and nodded.

In less than two minutes, I was drinking a "Bloody Mary" made from cow's blood. It wasn't as good as the stuff I got in L.A., of course. But, hey! Beggars can't be choosers.

Then, it happened. The roar of several motorcycle engines. Kawasaki Ninjas, I think. They drowned out all the talking that was going on throughout the bar. Then, it got quiet. Too quiet!

A moment later, they entered. About two dozen or so. Each one wearing a black leather outfit with matching helmet (including tinted glass visor). The apparent leader of the group spotted me, and turned to his followers, indicating me with his head. He turned just enough that I could see the club's emblem on the back of his jacket: a bird, sitting on a branch, above a mouse impaled on another branch.

They were Shrikes! Gangrel bikers from out of Huntington Beach. Rumor had it they preferred to be called "Carpathian-Americans," rather than "vampires" or "Kindred." But, the way I see it? A rose, by any other name, still has thorns sharp enough to draw blood. And, I could tell, from the way they were beginning to surround me in a semi-circle, that they were out for mine.

**tbc **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**RUPERT GILES' APARTMENT**

**SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA**

**(12 HOURS EARLIER)**

"It's called 'Queen Bessie's Lucky Charm,' because it used to belong to Queen Elizabeth I," explained Willow Rosenberg. She showed them the picture she had found, in one of Giles' tomes, of a silver bracelet with a matching figurine fashioned in the likeness of a unicorn.

"Legend has it," she continued: "...that it was carved from the horn of the last unicorn to survive Noah's Flood. That it was given to Queen Elizabeth, as a birthday gift, by Sir Walter Raleigh, himself. And, that he explained to her how wearing it would make England prosperous. But, only so long as she kept her virginity!"

"Whoa!" exclaimed Xander Harris: "Rough trade."

"Says the boy who almost became Purina Mantis Chow," countered Willow, with a good-natured tongue poke for emphasis.

"In any event," added Giles: "...the bracelet disappeared after her death in 1603. Not turning up again, until it was recorded as being given to the governor of Hong Kong, by Gen. Charles 'Chinese' Gordon, following suppression of the Taiping Rebellion. It has been passed down to all successive governors of that former Crown Colony right up until the Reversion, two years ago."

"And, this little thingie can turn Amy back to normal?" asked Buffy, looking at the picture once more.

"If it truly was carved from an alicorn, then yes. It would be one of the most powerful all-purpose counteractants of magic, in the world!"

"But, how do we find out where it is, in the here and now?" asked Xander.

"The usual way," replied Buffy: "You help Willow surf the Net, while I go beat up Willy the Bartender."

**WILLY'S BAR,**

**12 HOURS LATER**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

The Shrikes' apparent leader lifted his visor, and looked me straight in the eyes.

"You are Michael St. John of the Toreador Clan?"

"Only by Embrace," I answered, with a smile: "Can I help you guys?"

He nodded: "We have a mutual quarry; Angelus the Aurelian. The Shrikes don't like competition. So, we want you to head back to Los Angeles, tonight. Starting now!"

"Competition?" I asked: "Since when did bloodhunts become a sport? I thought it was mandatory, for everyone in the town where it was declared, to join in."

"We don't care what you thought. Return to L.A. Or, we stake you and behead you, right where you stand. Your choice!"

"EHHHHHHHHHH!" rang out a loud, decidedly female voice, in imitation of a game-show buzzer: "How about none of the above?"

I looked to my right, and saw a teenager girl standing in the doorway of the bar. She had on a brown leather outfit, with a blonde ponytail slung over her left shoulder. And, in each of her hands?

She held a wooden stake.

**tbc **


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**WILLY'S BAR, SUNNYDALE**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

"The Slayer!" exclaimed Willy: "Thank God!"

The blonde girl smiled: "Never thought I'd hear you say something like that, Willy. Especially in a place like this."

I almost couldn't believe my ears. This petite little thing was the Slayer? Then, again; I'm the last one who should judge by appearances. Most people wouldn't believe that I'm technically an octagenarian!

The Shrikes looked at their leader, who looked at the girl.

"We're here on Gangrel business, Slayer. Stay out of it, and we'll be on our way, in short order."

"They're here looking for your boyfriend, Angel!" I blurted out: "He's in a jam, and they don't want anybody helping him."

"Kill him, a lot!" shouted the leader.

Most of them turned right away, to carry out that order. By that point, though, I had already hopped over the bar and grabbed up several bottles of booze. These, I tossed like German World War II "potato-masher" grenades. And, each one landed on target. Cracking and breaking apart on contact with each Shrike's helmet!

That's when I ignited a road-safety flare from the trunk of my car, and used it to set off a Roman candle.

The fireballs that began spewing from the latter ignited the Shrikes I'd doused like dried kindling. The ones I hadn't? Well, let's just say they were too busy learning the hard way not to judge a pony-tailed book by its (admittedly attractive) cover.

**MEANWHILE, UP IN SAN FRANCISCO...**

The six of them gathered at the long conference table.

At the head of the table sat Julian Luna of the Ventrue Clan. Dark-haired, well-dressed Prince of the City. While to his left, sat the beautiful Lily Langtry; the red-haired, blue-eyed primogen of the local Toreador Clan. And, sitting next to her was Cash; primogen of the local Gangrel Clan.

Seated across from him was Cameron; primogen of the local Brujah since the Final Death of Eddie Fiori, six years earlier. To his left, sat Daedalus; the tall, and often-unnervingly silent, primogen of Clan Nosferatu. And, to Luna's immediate right sat Nicholas DeBrabant; primogen of the Ventrue Clan since the Final Death of Luna's sire, Archon Raine, also six years earlier.

DeBrabant's appointment had been controversial, to say the least. He had been Embraced by the current Prince of Toronto sometime in the 13th-century. And, he had spent a good portion of the preceding decade as a police officer up in that Canadian city! Emigrating to San Francisco only during the last four years.

Yet, there had been no one else among the local Ventrue even half as qualified as Archon had been. Nor could Julian fill the vacancy, himself, as the Kindred Prince of any city had to be seen as officially neutral in all his decision-making. So, after two years of near-chaos, Nick's sudden arrival had been viewed by Julian and the rest of his Conclave as a blessing in disguise.

"Thank you all for coming, on such short notice. I have been told by Lee Pow IV, leader of the Scarfoot Tong, that an anarch named Angel wishes an audience with me. I have learned, from Daedalus, something very interesting about him. Daedalus?"

The Nosferatu primogen rose to his feet.

"Angel was originally called 'Angelus; The Scourge of Europe.' And, two years ago, he turned against his grandsire; the antitribu Nosferatu called the Master. More recently, he brought about the unsanctioned Final Death of Russell Winters. The Ventrue pimogen of Los Angeles. This has resulted in Prince Cyrus declaring a bloodhunt against him. Which means this Angel is most likely seeking political asylum for himself and his two companions."

"Then, it's automatically out of the question," declared Cameron, as Daedalus resumed his seat: "Doing so is an open invitation to war with Cyrus!"

"Never thought I'd hear myself say this," added Lily. "But, I agree with the Brujah. A war with L.A. will do none of us any good."

"Well, I say, give him a chance to be heard," replied Cash: "Maybe there were extenuating circumstances! There always are, where Cyrus and his ilk are concerned."

"Ilk?" echoed Cameron, with a smug half-grin: "Have you been chewing on dictionaries again, you bad dog?"

Cash growled in his throat. But, Nick was quick to stave off any physical violence by raising his right hand.

"Cash is right. I say let him be heard."

Luna looked at the Nosferatu primogen: "Daedalus?"

The latter turned to his right. It was now his turn to smugly grin.

"Let the anarch present his case."

Luna nodded and agreed. He then took out a cellphone and hit the "speed-dial" button for Detective Sonny Toussaint of the SFPD.

"Sonny? It's a 'yes.' Have Lee relay the message."

**tbc **


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**WILLY'S BAR, SUNNYDALE**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

The Shrikes I'd set on fire immediately whipped off their helmets, and started rolling around on the ground. Their leader ran for the nearest fire extinguisher with the same immediacy. But, I beat him to it. As a result, I sprayed its contents right into his faceplate. And, when he took off his helmet to see better, I used the bottom of the extinguisher like a battering ram. Breaking his nose, and laying him out, flat on his back!

Of course, he'd only be clinically dead for a minute. So, it was initially my intention to use the distraction, caused by the Slayer, to head back for my car. Unfortunately, the Shrikes I'd set on fire had managed to extinguish the flames on their own. And, their displeasure at having their black leather jackets ruined, in the process, was all-too obvious on their faces. Their ears were becoming pointy, and their jaws were starting to elongate into almost-canine muzzles. In short?

They now resembled maloccluded Vulcans

But, just as my entire extended life started to flash before my eyes, help arrived from an unexpected quarter. Some purple-skinned demon, dressed like a spaghetti-Western cowboy, came rushing up from behind them and shouted for their attention. They turned as one...and two of them wound up getting literally punched through their heads!

Everyone was stunned. And, I almost threw up my Bovine Mary!

The other ten Shrikes regained their senses, and charged the new arrival en masse. Unfortunately for them, they got mowed down by the same pair of armor-plated, purple-knuckled fists. Then, he turned to me and lifted his black Stetson hat in greeting.

"I didn't mean to butt in. But, I hate uneven odds. And, twelve-against-one is downright dishonorable."

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied the Slayer, as she joined us from behind: "I find fighting a dozen vampires at once helps me burn off a lot of calories. Thereby preserving my girlish figure."

I looked at the twelve Shrikes she'd been fighting...and my lower jaw dropped like an anchor. Ten of them had evidently been decapitated by the short broadsword she was now wiping clean. The other two were on the floor. Paralyzed by the wooden stakes she had impaled them with!

"I keep forgetting not all vampires are alike," she explained: "The ones around here are so super-charged with Hellmouth energy, they instantly turn to dust when I stake 'em. Like popping balloons after a New Year's Eve party! But, what was it you were saying about Angel being in trouble?"

"ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!"

I'd almost forgotten about the Shrikes' leader. Acting purely on instinct, I grabbed the Slayer's broadsword, and slashed that Gangrel horizontally across his chest. Then, while he was doubled over in pain, I lopped off his head, And, all in less time than it takes to tell.

I thanked her for the use of her sword, as I handed it back to her. Suggesting she put the last two Shrikes out of our misery, so we could go somewhere else to talk in private.

"Sounds like a plan! I'm Buffy Summers, by the way."

I shook her hand: "Mick St. John. Nice to meet you."

**MEANWHILE, UP IN SAN FRANCISCO...**

Lee Pow IV was sitting in his office, on the second floor of the Purple Dragon Restaurant, when his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller-ID. Then, he pressed the "talk" button. "Yes?"

"He's consented to the meeting. Tell Angel I'll be stopping by tomorrow night at 8:30 to pick him up."

"Very well, Detective Toussaint. Thank you so much for the prompt notification."

As soon as he had hung up, the tong leader looked at the Japanese woman leaning against the back of his office door.

"You heard?"

She nodded: "You still want to go through with this?"

"Yes! My great-grandfather had no right giving that...that bai-kuei-tzu...our sacred family heirloom. And, I consider his doing so a far worse treason against the tong than anything perpetrated by my great-uncle."

"So be it, then. Until tomorrow night."

And, with that, the Japanese woman left.

**tbc **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I drove Buffy back to the apartment of her Watcher, Rupert Giles.

"Me and my fellow Scoobies have to meet there because our old headquarters blew up" she explained: "Along with the rest of the high school!"

"Scoobies?" I echoed.

She nodded: "Because, three of us are kids? And, we meddle with the plans of all the supernatural Big Bads who want to use the Hellmouth for some kind of evil-doing?"

"Gotcha!" I replied, grinning and giving her a right-handed thumb's-up.

When we got to Giles' apartment door, she told him what had happened at the bar and why it had side-tracked her from her original plans. She then introduced me, and emphasized how I was a "vegetarian." Giles immediately took the hint and invited me in.

"Willow Rosenberg? Xander Harris? Meet Mick St. John."

I shook hands with the other two teenagers (who were understandably a little hesitant to do so), and then I kept my promise to tell Buffy why Angel was in trouble. When I had finished, her face had lost its cherubic smile. Instead, she now looked as grim as any battle-hardened American soldier I had served with in the European Theater of WWII!

"Now, then; could you return the favor?" I asked: "And, tell me a little more about Angel? Like how he was turned, and why he's so infamous?"

So, she told me about "Liam." The son of a wealthy Galway silk merchant, in eighteenth-century Ireland, who seemed to delight in being a womanizing drunkard and bully. And, how, one night, he crossed paths with Darla (a prostitute who'd been vampirized back in the 16th century). He started to have his way with her. She Embraced him. And, in the process, sired a monster far worse-far more sadistic-than Liam had ever been.

That is; till he made the mistake of killing and draining a young gypsy girl sometime during the late 19th century. The shaman of the kumpaniya led the rest of his people in putting a curse on Angel. The worst one imaginable to them; the restoration of his human soul. And, with it, the conscience he must have had during his own once-innocent childhood.

"It's been a mixed blessing for him, at best," she finished: "Because, it inspired him to try and atone for his past sins. Including turning on Darla and her sire; the Master of the Order of Aurelius."

"All very commendable," I replied: "But, if Prince Cyrus' other bloodhunters find him before I do, he's a goner. Plain and simple as that!"

Giles had been tapping on his chin, with his right index finger, all through Buffy's recitation.

"You say he might be seeking political asylum from the Camarilla of San Francisco?"

I nodded, a little surprised (not to mention, disconcerted) that he knew about one of the names for the political hierarchy of the Kindred.

"Willow! What was it you found out on your computer, just prior to Buffy's return?"

"Oh! Right! Well, according to this one website (?), there's supposedly a reproduction of Queen Bessie's Lucky Charm at the Winston Rayne Memorial Museum of Antiquities. In San Francisco!"

I shrugged: "So?"

"It was donated to the museum by a close personal friend of the last English governor of Hong Kong. A certain local philanthropist named...Julian Luna!"

I finally realized what she was getting at.

"You want me to take Buffy with me to Frisco!"

"Not just her" declared Xander: "Me and Will, too."

"It _would_ kill the proverbial two birds with one stone," added Giles: "Buffy could-to use her vernacular-watch your back, in case you're accosted by anymore rival bloodhunters. And, you could return the favor by helping her secure the unicorn bracelet! Or, at the very least, help us verify that it is, indeed, merely a reproduction."

I thought it over a few moments. Then, I nodded.

"Let's all hop in the Mystery Machine, gang!"

**tbc**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY,**

**EN ROUTE TO SAN FRANCISCO**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

There was a slight delay as we went to Willow's house, so she could explain to her mother that she would be spending the weekend at Buffy's house. Then, we went to Buffy's house, where I was surprised to learn that Mrs. Summers knew about her daughter's...extra-curricular activities!

When I asked Xander if we had to stop at his house next, he lost his Cheshire cat-grin, and shook his head.

"I don't have to cook up any elaborate alibi for _my_ folks. They'll never even notice I'm gone!"

I didn't press. I just waited for Buffy to finish packing some extra things. When she finally-and cheerfully- announced that she was ready, I helped tote her and Willow's luggage out to my car, and put it in the trunk. Then, off we went.

As I drove along the PCH, I thought about the now-clearer picture I had of Angel.

Once upon a time, he'd had more issues than an LAX news stand! Mostly with stern authority figures. But, now that his conscience had been mystically restored to him, he was using his vampiric abilities to help the helpless. Sort of like me; only more extreme.

And, I swore to myself to do everything in _my_ power to help him keep on doing just that.

**SAN FRANCISCO**

**(THE NEXT NIGHT)**

Allen Francis Doyle looked at the pocket watch he had been given as a twenty-first birthday present from his mother. When he discovered, on that same birthday, what he had gotten from his Brachen demon-father, he had initially used it (in conjunction with his power) to win big betting on horse races!

That is; till the Powers That Be started including headaches with the precognitive visions.

Now, he was trying to use that precognition for good. Starting with saving the lives of Angel and his friend, Cordelia. And, in less than four minutes, he would have accomplished just that. Giving him a sense of satisfaction that his usual cynicism could not erode.

He, Angel, and Cordelia were now on the sidewalk, in front of the doors to the lobby of the House of Lavender Flame. It felt like they had been waiting forever! But, another glance at the pocket watch revealed that only about thirty seconds had elapsed since the previous time-check.

Suddenly, the disparate trio were illuminated by the headlights of an approaching car. It pulled up to them, and its driver rolled down the window.

"Which one of you is Angel?" asked the black man at the steering wheel.

Angel stepped forward, holding up his hand.

"Who are you?" he then countered.

"Sonny Toussaint. Mr. Luna's personal liaison with the SFPD."

"Could I see your badge?"

"Sure thing."

It was at this point, while the police detective was fishing for his identification, that Doyle got a splitting headache. And, the vision that came with it showed someone else at the steering wheel of the unmarked police car.

Someone dressed like a female ninja.

"Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed: "ANGEL! It's a trap!"

**tbc **


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**By Carycomic**

**SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT HILTON,**

**TWELVE HOURS EARLIER**

**(MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.)**

We checked into Josef Kostan's private suite at the Hilton around eight-thirty the next morning. The concierge at the desk needed only one phone call to verify my claim at having a standing invitation, to make use of it, in Josef's absence. Not to mention, blushing in embarrassment at having doubted that claim so snobbishly!

What can I say? Sometimes, it pays to be on a first-name basis with the richest Toreador on the West Coast.

Buffy and Willow took the master bedroom, Xander took one of the two guest-rooms, and I took the couch. And, I have to confess, I fell asleep before any of them. Because, like I said: I can only withstand a limited amount of direct sunlight.

We woke up around one in the afternoon with the other three ordering room service to quench their appetites. Me? I got out my "brandy flask" and swigged down some cow's blood. When those preliminaries were over, Willow was the first to broach the subject of how we'd be spending the day.

"Well, as I see it?" remarked Buffy: "We first have to determine whether or not that really is just a replica of Queen Bessie's Lucky Charm at that museum. Think you're computer wizardry is up to the challenge, Will?"

Willow grinned. "Let me at 'em!"

"That a girl! Xan? Why don't you accompany me to the museum so we can scout out the in-house security. You know; just in case we have to...preemptively borrow it?"

"Oooh!" exclaimed Xander: "What a nice new euphemism for stealing."

"Down, boy! Mick; how about you? You got enough sunblock to make it to Chinatown?"

I nodded: "Contacting Angel during daylight hours would be best for me. I'm a lot less likely to run across any of my 'rival bloodhunters.' Emphasis on the sarcastic finger quotes."

"Swellish!" replied Buffy: "Then let's hit the bricks."

Ninety minutes later, I was at the House of Lavender Flame knocking on the door of a third floor room. I had used my vampirically-enhanced olfactory sense to ferret out which one Angel was staying in. But, I was so busy mentally patting myself on the back, I momentarily forgot he had not come here alone.

A fact I was reminded of when I felt the point of a wooden stake pressed against the back of my head.

"Halt! Friend or foe?"

The voice was decidedly female, so it was easy to deduce that this must be the one called Cordelia.

"Definitely a friend. Buffy sent me!"

The door in front of me opened up without any further delay.

"Come on in, and talk fast," ordered Angel.

And, that was how I first came face-to-face with the former Scourge of Europe.

I told him my story; he gave me his. When he told me about the audience with Prince Julian later that night, I was a little dubious.

"If the local Brujah primogen is secretly Cyrus' man, he won't just stand idly by and let this go. He'll secretly arrange to have something happen before you get to Luna's mansion."

Angel nodded: "I know. And, I have to admit; I was initially at a loss with regard to having any kind of contingency plan. But, now, with you and Buffy, here...?"

"...the luck of the Irish might finally be with us," finished Doyle.

"From your brogue to God's ear," muttered Cordie.

Lyle Gorch, and his brother Tector, had originally been scalphunters back in the Old West. When they could not find legitimate bronco Apaches to shoot, kill, and scalp for blood money, they would gladly substitute innocent Mexican peons!

Then, they got vampirized.

For the next century after that, they roamed, raped, and pillaged at will. Sort of like New World counterparts of Angelus, Darla, Drusilla, and Spike (only cruder). Then, one day, they chose to go to a California town called Sunnydale, to try and solidify their vampiric reputations by slaying the Slayer. But, all that truly happened is Lyle losing Tector to some half-buried monster called a "bezoar!"

Considering himself a good and loyal brother, Lyle came back to Sunnydale, a year later. Determined to avenge Tector's Final Death, at all costs. Once again, however, the Slayer and her friends got the upper hand. This time, by dusting his beloved "wife," Candy!

Now, though, he had a new wife. Someone twice as good in bed as Candy. And, with twice as big a grudge against the Slayer as Lyle himself. It was she who had talked him into abandoning his old ways for a new motif. And, he had to admit: this "Bonnie-and-Clyde" look was a definite improvement.

He hefted his tommy-gun: "You about ready, little darlin'?"

She smiled as she finished buttoning her pin-stripe blazer and donned a black-banded white fedora.

"Uh-huh! Let's go put the 'harm' in Harmony Kendall."

**tbc**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.**

**(8:30 P.M./PST)**

"Oh, bloody hell!" he muttered: "ANGEL! It's a trap!"

Doyle had no sooner shouted that warning, than the one posing as Sonny Toussaint came back up with a sawed-off Stevens twelve gauge shotgun.

BOOM!

Angel barely evaded the twin-barreled blast...which turned out to consist of garlic salt. Such being the case, a couple of particles managed to make it into his mouth, sending him into a paroxysm of coughing. This, in turn, allowed his assailant to exit from the right front passenger door, carrying a net filled with pink children's party balloons.

And, with each balloon filled with holy water.

The counterfeit cop tried to use that net like a giant blackjack. Striving to bring it down on the still-coughing vampire's head! But, with Cordelia's help, Doyle was able to drag Angel off the hood of the unmarked police car just in time.

Even so, some of the water droplets managed to find their way on to the bare skin of Angel's face and hands. Burning him just as badly as droplets of sulfuric acid would a human! And, seeing this, Angel's attacker tossed another projectile into the air. This one, a hard-boiled egg containing powdered magnesium.

"To your left!" yelled Doyle.

The disparate trio just barely managed to avoid going up in flames as the water ignited the magnesium. Their vision, however, was temporarily impaired by the brief explosion of white light. Thereby allowing their attacker (who had dropped all semblance of Sonny Toussaint) to get behind them, and throw a silver shuriken at Angel's forehead.

Once again, Doyle's foresight came to the aid of the other two. Although, at a great cost to himself.

"Look out, Corrrrrrrrrrrrgh!"

"DOYLE!"

The half-mortal Brachen had used his own body to shield Angel and Cordelia. And, he half-smiled as he slowly slid to his knees and expired.

Cordelia, completely in shock, unknowingly dropped Angel to the ground as she fell to her own knees and cradled Doyle's head in her arms. Thus, she never saw the ninja-to of their attacker suddenly wrested from her grasp by a young, pony-tailed blonde woman wearing a black turtleneck sweater and matching slacks.

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

The rapidity of the attack took even Buffy by surprise. She immediately dove through the unopened window of the second floor room we had rented (at the House of Lavender Flame). But, by the time she somersaulted enough to land on the ground in a cat-like crouch, the one called Doyle was down.

The best Buffy could try to do, at that point, was use his killer's own sword to decapitate her. But, the kunoichi proved just as agile as the Slayer. Literally bending over backward to avoid the blow! And, coming back up with a pair of sais to counter-attack with.

The eye-blurring speed with which they parried and thrusted put every martial arts movie duel I've ever seen to shame. I wasn't destined to enjoy my ring-side seat for long, though. Because, to my left, I suddenly saw two figures emerge from the shadows. A man and woman who were dressed like they'd seen one too many gangster-movies.

Unfortunately, the firearms they were carrying weren't movie props. The man was armed with a .45 caliber Thompson sub-machine gun with a circular drum. While the woman had a .38 caliber Webley-Fosbery automatic revolver in each hand! And, when they came to a stop, it was in a side-by-side stance that I knew meant they were going to open fire on the two women any second.

Not if I could help it.

"GERONIMOOOOOOOO!" I shouted, as I leaped from the window right down on top of them.

I landed atop the woman, who I immediately sensed was a vampiress. Unfortunately, I was distracted by this long enough for her to kick me off of her. Using stiletto heels!

"Uhnnnnn!" I grunted with pain as my back collided with the wall of the hotel between the second and third floors. I fell back down to the ground, landing a whole lot less gracefully than Buffy had. And, that's when the male vampire drew a bead on me.

"You want a dance, hombre? Then dance to this music!"

The ensuing hail of .45 caliber bullets, fired at my feet, had me hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean on a hot plate. That is, till his girlfriend was ready to get into the act.

"That's enough, Lyle! Now, it's my turn."

With a grin like a Cheshire cat with rabies, she centered her twin .38's on my head. Only to scream with intense pain, as a loud explosion sent her flying off her feet at the same time it began to incinerate her body!

"Harmony!" screamed her boyfriend. He then spun about, loading a fresh ammo drum on to the tommy-gun as he did so. In that interim, I spotted the one who had rescued me from target practice. It was an African-American guy in a brown leather jacket. Rope burns on his wrists...and an SFPD badge on his belt.

He had a "blooper" gun in his hands. The type SWAT teams use for launching tear gas shells. Yet, the acrid stench reaching my nostrils told me Harmony had been on the receiving end of a white phosphorus shell! And my rescuer was busy loading a new one into the chamber as fast as he could.

He'd never be able to fire it off, though, before Lyle opened fire first. Probably with wood-tipped "dum-dum" bullets (basically, steel-jacketed wooden darts)! So, I did the first thing that popped into my head. I dove for the discarded Webleys.

"Hey, hombre! Eat lead!"

I emptied both revolver into him. First, his legs above the kneecaps. Then, his stomach. And, finally; one each to his heart and head. Sure enough! My hunch about the bullets had been right.

Lyle's body turned to dust, just like those Sunnydale vampires Buffy and the others had told me about. That was when I noticed how quiet it had gotten. No more clanging of metal on metal. I looked towards where Buffy had been fighting the kunoichi. And, the latter was down for the count as well.

When I looked at where the girl called Cordelia was crying over the man called Doyle, however, I could only consider it a Pyrrhic victory.

**tbc**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO**

**(MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.)**

I looked at the African-American vampire first.

"So, you're the _real_ Sonny Toussaint, I take it?"

He nodded: "I was just leaving, to keep my appointment with Angel, when I got jumped by this kunoichi..."

"Gesunheit," said Buffy.

Somehow, I managed to refrain from grinning as Toussaint (very patiently!) explained to the Slayer that "kunoichi" was the traditional Japanese term for a female ninja. And, that this particular one evidently belonged to a Japanese sect of the Assamite Clan.

"The Assamites are vampiric assassins-for-hire. And, they specialize in a mystic discipline called Obfuscation. In this case, she made herself appear to be me. After knocking me out and locking me in the trunk of my own car!"

"Evidently, there was a leak in your organization as to the time and place you were to come pick me up," replied Angel. "Could the local Brujah primogen be in league with Prince Cyrus?"

"Why don't we ask her?" suggested Buffy.

She pointed at the kunoichi, whom the Slayer had impaled with her own sword. But without piercing the heart. As a result, she (the Assamite) was painfully hovering between un-death and Final Death. And, she apparently decided the latter was preferable to being questioned.

Because, the next moment, she decapitated herself with an elongated set of left finger nails!

A moment later, the sound of approaching police sirens diverted our attention from the kunoichi's ashes.

"My partner's bound to be with them," declared Toussaint: "We'd better boogie it to the Haven through the sewers."

"Mind if I come with you?" I asked.

"I was going to ask you to tag along anyway. To back up my explanation to the Conclave."

"What about Buffy?" remarked Angel.

"You go," she replied. "It'll be alright. I'm used to being in trouble with the cops."

So, the three of us (me, Angel, and Toussaint) wound up racing through the sewers of Frisco like John Wesley Shipp. You know; the guy who played THE FLASH, on CBS, before hitting it big as "Mr. Leary" on DAWSON'S CREEK? Anyway, within twenty minutes, we were in the secret chambers of Daedalus. The local Nosferatu primogen.

Boy, was he tall!

Like Lurch Addams with anorexia. But, with a frown that I can only call 'scary'. And, he did a _lot_ of frowning at Toussaint's explanation for my unexpected presence.

"Julian is not going to be pleased when he hears this."

"Then, we'd better tell him, right now, and get it over with."

So, we went upstairs.

That's when I realized Daedalus' chambers must be sound-proofed. Because, the second we left them, to enter a wine cellar, I heard all kinds of loud music coming down from its ceiling. Toussaint explained that the Haven was a night club owned by Lily Langtry, the local Toreador primogen.

"It makes a useful front for the stockpiling of emergency blood supplies and the holding of special meetings. Like this one."

Apparently, it wasn't a bad money-maker, in its own right, either. Because, the showroom was packed! Yet, no one looked our way as Daedalus led us to the foot of the stairs to the conference room. I guess it was a combination of his Obfuscation ability and the sounds of the talented Gen-X rock band on the main stage.

I smiled to myself as I read the group's name on their drummer's bass drum: "Dingoes Ate My Baby."

**tbc **


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**THE HAVEN, SAN FRANCISCO**

**(MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.)**

We left the main showroom, and proceeded upstairs to the conference room. Once we had entered it, Sonny closed the doors behind us. This instantly shut out all the music from the showroom. Which indicated, in turn, that the conference room had been just as soundproofed as Daedalus' chambers. Sonny then went over to stand behind the chair at the upper end of the conference table while Daedalus sat down at the bottom left corner of it.

"Lady and gentlemen of the Conclave?" began Sonny, in a ritualistic-sounding fashion: "May I introduce Angel (formerly of the Order of Aurelius). And, Michael St. John of the Los Angeles Toreadors. Angel? Mick? Primogen Daedalus, of the Nosferatu Clan, you've already met. The rest of the Conclave, going clockwise, consist of Primogen Lily Langtry (Toreador Clan); Primogen Cash (Gangrel Clan); Primogen Cameron (Brujah Clan); Primogen Nicole DeBrabant (Ventrue Clan); and Julian Luna. The Prince of San Francisco."

The two of us bowed, like we were meeting the British Royal Family, themselves. After which, Prince Julian asked us what he could do for us. So, Angel went first. His story took a good half-hour, at least. When my turn came, mine wasn't much shorter. During the recitation, however, I kept looking at DeBrabant. Because, I could swear he looked very familiar to me. Like I had met him someplace before.

Then, it hit me.

**CHICAGO, ILLINOIS (1989)**

I had been chasing a renegade Tzimice named Anton Voytek. He had awakened from torpor, in San Francisco, ten years earlier. And, an architect named John Rawlins had gotten on his bad side by informing the IRS about a suspicious collection of "family heirlooms" Voytek had commissioned him to design an impenetrable vault for.

The latter had retaliated by totally draining Rawlins' wife! And, he would have done the same to Rawlins, himself, if not for a retired SFPD homicide detective named Harry Kilcoyne.

The two of them became like Holmes and Watson to Voytek's Moriarty, chasing him all over the country for the next decade. When his trail finally led them to L.A., they hired me to be their tour guide. Not knowing, of course, that I was a vamp, myself.

We thought we had cornered him in the bowels of the old Queen Mary. But, he got the drop on us. And, before I could stop him, he had tossed me aside like the proverbial rag doll. Following which, he snapped Harry's neck and turned Rawlins into a paraplegic!

Rawlins did not want to spend the rest of his life like that. So, he made two last requests of me.

"Put me...out of...my misery. Then,...GET THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

Physically, the first part was easy. Emotionally? Not so much. The second part, however, I was more than glad to promise. And, I kept it, too. Trailing that Tzimicean bastard all the way to the Windy City!

There, I made the acquaintance of a black police sergeant named Richard Page. And, his white partner; Officer Nick Knight.

Page knew about Nick being a vampire. It seems the two of them had come across a neo-Nazi street gang vandalizing a Jewish synagogue, one night. And, when they confronted them, the skin-heads turned out to be Fenrir Garou!

It wasn't easy. But, Nick drove them off. Afterwards, when he tried to telepathically induce hypno-amnesia in Page, the poor guy turned out to be naturally immune. It was only by personally vouching for his human partner that Nick managed to dissuade the local Conclave from unleashing the Enforcers on him.

In any event, I was required by the rules of the Masquerade to get the permission of that same group before conducting a glorified bloodhunt on their turf. Considering that Voytek was Tzimice (co-founder of the Sabbat, arch-rival of the Camarilla), it didn't prove all that difficult to get that approval.

Nick and I finally cornered our prey on the roof of the Sears Tower, shortly after midnight, the next night.

"Give it up, Voytek!" Nick yelled: "You have been duly tried, in absentia, and lawfully condemned to Final Death."

"Ventrue scum! I do not recognize your authority over me."

"Who gives a frig what you recognize?" I'd countered: "You're going down for what you did to Harry and Rawlins."

The defiant grin he gave us in response was more like that of a terrible two year-old, rather than a centuries-old aristocrat from Central Europe.

"Give it your best shots."

If he'd been expecting to go out in a blaze of glory, fighting us hand-to-hand in a three-way free-for-all, we severely disappointed him. What we did, instead, was soften the bastard up. First, by my firing Uzi-replica squirt guns, loaded with holy water, right in his face!. Followed by Nick using a wooden stake to paralyze him just long enough to decapitate him. With a meat cleaver, no less!

After that, I went back to Los Angeles, where I only heard one more time from Nick, prior to the turn of the millennium. It was a 1993 letter in which he told me (among other things) that he no longer worked for Chicago's Finest. Instead, he now worked for the night shift of the local police in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. As for Richard Page? Not only did CPD eventually make him a detective and promote him to captain. They also made him the head honcho of some elite outfit called "Special Unit 2."

**SAN FRANCISCO (1999)**

There was a long pause as I finally completed my explanation as to how I'd gotten involved with Angel and his friends. After what seemed like an eternity, Prince Julian looked at the two of us, and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Remarkable stories, to say the least! But, having heard them, I'm in a quandary as to how to proceed next. On the one hand, if I grant your request, Angel, I risk all-out war with the L.A. Kindred. Which would almost certainly destroy the Masquerade for good. On the other hand, if I deny your request, your only other option is virtually permanent exile in Asia. And, it would be an understatement to say that kuei-jin tolerance of immigrant Western Kindred is only _slightly_ higher than zero!"

"I will gladly accept whatever decision best protects Cordelia Chase from any retribution," Angel replied: "Because, primogen or not, one fact doesn't change. Russell Winters did try to forcibly Embrace her."

Prince Julian then turned to his personal sergeant-at-arms.

"Sonny? Why don't you take these gentlemen downstairs for a drink, while the Conclave votes on what to do."

Sonny nodded. Five minutes later, the three of us were in the Haven's cocktail lounge, drinking Bovine Marys. I had finished mine, and was just about to ask (semi-rhetorically) what was taking so long, when it happened. A cacophony of over-turned tables and female screams broke out from the direction of the club's lobby.

"What the frig...?" muttered Sonny, as he ran to discover the source of the disturbance. Angel and I close beside him. Imagine our collective shock at seeing the Haven's Gangrel bouncers duking it out with a another bunch of Kindred...and losing.

"Who the...?" I began to ask.

Sonny identified them as the Hopping Ghosts; a kuei-jin gang from Chinatown. He then added (looking right at Angel): "And, it appears they're here for you."

**tbc**

**Tzimice:** vampire clan made up mostly of tyrants from the Dark Ages (like Vlad Tepes, for example). They are greatly feared because they not only have the power to shift their own shapes, but to alter the shapes of others, as well! And, they have been known to use this ability for the sheer sadistic joy of it.

**Special Unit 2:** a branch of the Chicago Police Department that secretly defends the Windy City from supernatural evil.

**Kuei-jin:** a portmanteau used by Occidental Kindred for their counterparts in the Far East.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**HOUSE OF LAVENDER FLAME,**

**CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO**

**8:46 P.M. (TWO HOURS EARLIER) **

Detective Frank Kohanek looked at the young brunette, crying on the sidewalk. He looked at the several broken windows on the upper floors of the semi-respectable hotel. And, then, he looked at the young blonde in the black clothing who seemed to be the only one as morbidly calm as him.

So, he went up to her, flashing his gold badge to reinforce his verbal self-identification.

"Did you see what went on here, Miss. . .?"

"Summers. Buffy Summers," she replied: "And, yes, I did."

"Could you tell me about it?" he prompted.

"Well, for starters; Cordie and I- -Cordelia Chase, that is (that's her over there, poor thing)- - came up here on vacation. Napa Valley wineries tour and all that. With poor Mr. Doyle, there, as our tour guide. We had stopped at that restaurant across the street to get a late supper. And, the next thing I know these ninjas come dropping down, out of nowhere! Screaming, waving their swords about, and going after that man."

She pointed to Lee Pow IV as she said this. Frank arched his left eyebrow, Vulcan-style.

"And, were you able to distinguish any of what they were saying?"

"I'm sorry, no. It was all in Japanese. And, when it first started, I thought we had stumbled into the middle of some martial arts flick being filmed on location! Then, I saw poor Mr. Doyle get killed. That's when I knew we must be in the middle of some gang war!"

"Gang war?"

"Yeah! You know; like tong vs. yakuza? That sort of thing?"

Kohanek half-smiled: "With all due respect, miss; I'm afraid you've been watching _too many_ martial arts movies,"

Buffy's posture indignantly stiffened: "Oh, yeah? Well, I'm from Sunnydale. The town with all those PCP-addicted street gangs? And, learning the martial arts there is practically mandatory!"

"Really!" replied Kohanek: "How very interesting. Please, wait here for a moment. I might have more questions for you."

"I'm not going anywhere without Cordie."

Kohanek nodded, understandingly. Then, he walked over to where Lee was standing. And, rather nervously, at that! Maybe Ms. Summers' notion was not so far-fetched, after all.

Buffy waited until the police detective was deep into his questioning before kneeling down to try and snap Cordelia out of her shock. For, not once, from the time Angel and Mick had departed with Sonny Toussaint to the pulling up of the first police car, had the would-be movie actress stopped crying. She had merely rocked back and forth on her knees, still cradling Doyle's head and upper torso like a mother with a newborn baby.

"Cordie?" she began: "Cordie, I'm sorry. I know he died saving your life. And, it takes a great guy to do that for anybody! But, the cops have to take his body away, now."

"No!" exclaimed Cordelia, finally looking up, sheer terror in her eyes: "They'll do an autopsy on him. They'll see he's not fully human, and think he's an alien from outer space, or something!"

"I won't let that happen. We have the cell phone number for Mick's friend, Mr. Kostan. We can call him from the police station, and have him pull some strings. Maybe claim that an autopsy is against Doyle's family's religion! But, in the meantime, we have to keep up appearances. We have to let the cops take Doyle away, for the time being."

There was an awkward pause between the two young women. And, then, much to Buffy's amazement, Cordie released Doyle's body in order to hug the Slayer! Her amazement quickly changed to compassion, however, and she hugged Cordie right back. Comforting the sobbing brunette as best she could.

That was when the migraine hit her.

"Detective Kohanek, Mr. Lee. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Not at all, detective! I am most happy to co-operate, in any way I can."

"You own both this hotel and the Purple Dragon Restaurant, correct?"

Lee Pow IV nodded: "It eliminates tardiness, when one can house one's immigrant employees directly across the street from their place of work. And, the tax write-off isn't bad, either!"

"Some of those immigrant employees wouldn't be Japanese by any chance, would they?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What I mean is; you didn't do anything to get piss off the local branch of the yakuza, did you?"

"Yakuza?" echoed Lee (in half-genuine astonishment): "Really, detective! Whatever gave you that idea? I admit, some of my plastic dishware might be made in Japan. But, by and large, I am a legitimate businessman!"

"Legitimate businessmen don't usually have ninja trying to slice up them up like sushi."

"I resent your racist sarcasm, detective. If you wish to ask me anymore questions, contact me through my lawyer!"

Kohanek smiled to himself, as he let the elderly restaurateur walk away from him.

The migraine was followed by a chain of images.

The first image showed what looked like an ordinary adobe mission from California's Spanish colonial days (like the one at San Juan Capistrano, for instance). But, the second image gave her mind's eye a closer view of the archway above the main gate. And, the name on that archway consisted of two words:

"ST. IOANNES"

The third image seemed to come with a sound track, as Buffy now heard the wooden doors of the main gate being torn from their hinges! Which was followed immediately by the fourth image: that of a scantily-clad young woman (with long legs, honey-blonde hair, and brown eyes) smiling maliciously as she strode into the courtyard of what was now obviously a European monastery of some sort.

"Yoo-hoo! Come out, come out, wherever you are. It's not nice to fool with Mother Glorious."

tbc


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**HOUSE OF LAVENDER FLAME,**

**CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO**

**8:50 P.M. (PST)**

The first thing Lee Pow IV did, upon leaving the offensive Kohanek's presence, was to head to the top floor of the hotel. He had a private suite there, along with a number of throw-away cell phones that were officially listed under the names of deceased ancestors! Such a practice might initially seem laughable to most Caucasians. But, thus far, it was one that had successfully kept him from being monitored by the FBI.

Emphasis on "_thus far_."

Lee picked up just such a throw-away, consulted the "speed-dial" directory, and then hit the button.

"Yes?" inquired the voice that picked up after only two rings.

"It's me," Lee replied: "The kunoichi failed. And, what's worse? The police think she was sent after me. By the yakuza! Do you what that means? FBI involvement! That's what it means. Because, all those fools have to do is hear those two little words; _'organized crime_.' And, they become more tenacious than a pair of pit-bulls fighting over a T-bone steak!"

"Would you calm down for a moment!" barked the other voice: "No way are the local cops notifying the Feds. With or without Julian's influence! It's what you might call ' _territorial pride_.' "

"I don't care if you call it a bureaucratic pissing contest! Angel is still walking around with my family's legacy still in his possession. And, I will not let him leave the country with it. Even if it means my having to hire the Order of Teraka out of my own pocket!"

"Now, let's not get hasty, mate," the other voice urged: "I have other business acquaintances I can contact to get the job done. And, for gratis!"

"Very well! This is your last chance."

**SAN FRANCISCO LEGACY HOUSE**

**ANGEL ISLAND (9:00 P.M./PST)**

Alexandra Moreau- -"Alex" to her friends- -had just been about to shut off the library computer for the day, when she got an emergency instant message from the Legacy's Italian branch. Frowning, she buzzed Derek Rayne's pocket pager. Within two minutes, the Precept of the House was in the library along with Dr. Rachel Corrigan and Nick Boyle. Thirty seconds after that, a two way digital videoconference had been activated.

Derek half-smiled when he saw who it was, webcasting from Florence House.

"Philip! Long time/no see."

Father Philip Callahan, the Vatican's personal liaison with San Francisco House, frowned.

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call, Derek. We just received word from our Greek Orthodox brethren. The monastery of St. Ioannes has been destroyed."

There was a full minute of stunned silence.

"Was it terrorists?" Nick Boyle (the ex-Navy SEAL) finally managed to ask.

Father Callahan shook his head: "Not unless you can think of a terrorist group whose trademark is manual decapitation!"

"Have the Knights been activated?"

"The Patriarch sent out the word the moment he was informed."

Alex looked at her teammates.

"Do you think this could be related to that hacker?"

Father Callahan arched an eyebrow: "Hacker? What hacker?"

Derek replied that, earlier in the afternoon, Alex had detected someone trying to gain unauthorized on-line information concerning the Luna Foundation and the Winston Rayne Museum's security system.

"I was able to shut them out," added Alex: "But, whoever it was, they were good enough to keep me from back-tracing them!"

"Well, it could just be coincidence," declared the priest: "But, if so, it's a poorly timed one!"

"What about the rest of the Legacy?" asked Derek.

"All Houses have been notified, along with every chapter of the Holy Order of Nimrod."

"And, the Greek monks?" Rachel now inquired: "Were there any. . .survivors among them?

Father Callahan could only shrug: "The Greek police are still tallying bodies. But, as of right now, it doesn't look like it."

"Temple of the Searing Wind," recited the female voice at the other end of the line.

"I wish to speak to Yu Nohu."

"I am afraid that is impossible, sir. The sifu is in private meditation and cannot be disturbed."

"He'll want to be disturbed for this, sweetheart. Tell him it's a chance to have the Prince of Los Angeles owe him one."

Five minutes later, a much older, decidedly male voice came on the phone.

"You were saying. . .?"

So, the Englishman told him all about the blood hunt that had been declared against Angel.

"If your boys slay him," the former concluded: "...Cyrus will be extremely grateful. Maybe even to the point of letting you build that branch temple you want. Plus, you feed on the chi of sinners; right? Well, with all the sins he's committed, as Angelus, his chi will probably seem like a regular smorgasbord!"

There was a brief pause as the kuei-jin master considered this offer. He then asked for Angel's present whereabouts.

"Well, that's the one wrinkle, I'm afraid. According to my little crystal ball, he's at the Haven! Lily Langtry's place. Which means, he's probably under Julian Luna's protection, even as we speak. Your boys might have to invade it, in force."

"When it comes to providing overdue retribution to sinners like Angelus," replied Yu Nohu: ". . .no price is too high."

**tbc **


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT HILTON**

**9:15 P.M. (PST)**

Willow picked up the cell phone on the first vibration. Caller I.D. showed it was Buffy, so she answered in person.

"Hey, Buffy! Where are you?"

"At SFPD Headquarters. Don't echo me in shock! It'll be quicker if you let me explain."

Fifteen minutes later, Willow was almost as teary-eyed as Cordelia had been. That, in turn, prompted her to ask how the latter was doing.

"She finally cried herself to sleep in one of their coffee-break lounges. Which is why I took the opportunity to call you back and see how you were doing on the hacker front?"

"Not so good," confessed the young computer wizardess: "I spent most of the morning, and all afternoon, trying to get the information you wanted. But, every time I tried to get past the propaganda about how it was donated to the museum, and all that other trivia, I kept getting firewall after firewall!"

"So, in other words, you finally met your match, Young Grasshopper?"

"Not quite! Xander finished transferring his pirated footage to DVD. So, I'm going through it, image by image."

Buffy and Xander had spent nearly all day at the Winston Rayne Museum of Antiquities, covertly noting any and all weak points in its security system. Particularly in the vicinity of "Queen Bessie's Lucky Charm." So as not to arouse suspicion with a cumbersome video camcorder, Xander had stuck a cellular vidphone in his left lapel pocket. And, by simultaneously wearing earphones while rhythmically bobbing his head back and forth, he successfully made it seem like he was just another bored teenager listening to an Ipod!

"Good girl!" exclaimed Buffy: "I'll check back with you when I get back with Cordie. In the meantime, I have another call to make."

**SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA**

**9:35 P.M. (PST)**

Rupert Giles sighed as he put down the Gothic horror novel he had been reading and answered the insistent ringing of his rotary-dial telephone. For as Jenny Callender, herself, had once noted, he was a very "_old-fashioned boy_."

"Hello?"

"Hello, yourself, Ripper."

"Oh, Good Lord! What do _you_ want?"

"Now, is that anyway to talk to your oldest mate, mate?"

"With '_mates_' like you, one bloody well doesn't need any enemies! So, good..."

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no!" Ethan Rayne hurriedly interjected: "Don't hang up! I have news of vital import, as they say. News that I'm sure the Watchers' Council hasn't shared with you yet."

"What the blazes are you talking about?"

"You get CNN on your local telly? If so, I'd advise you to tune in. Right quick!"

Against his better judgment, Giles did as instructed. What he saw, when the TV finally focused, chilled him to the bone.

"When did this happen?" Giles demanded.

"About an hour ago, your time. I only found out, m'self, just now, while waiting for the stock market report. You see, I finally went legit, Ripper. I'm an investment counselor, now!"

**BEL AIR, CALIFORNIA**

**9:40 P.M. (PST)**

Josef Kostan had just finished talking with Buffy Summers. Promising her that he would, indeed, use his considerable influence to make it seem like Allen Francis Doyle came from a very religious family. One that did not permit any kind of physical desecration to their dead next-of-kin not commensurate with embalming. No sooner had he done so, however, than he got a call from Cyrus, veritably commanding him to turn on CNN, right that very second!

The images being telecast from the foothills of Crete made him spit up the contents of the 'Bloody Marie-Verite' " he had just sipped from.

"Does this mean what I think it does?" Kostan finally asked, in a hoarse whisper.

"I hope to Cain not!" was Cyrus' only (_yet ironically sincere_) reply.

**CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO**

**10:00 P.M. (PST)**

The Hopping Ghosts entered the Temple of the Searing Wind's main hall of worship. They formed five rows of ten abreast. And, then they knelt down, in perfect unison, on each of their right knees. Whereupon, Sifu Yu Nohu came out from behind the curtain to the right of the altar.

"My children! I have gathered you here, this evening because of a vision I had. A vision of a bai-kuei-tzu, in the truest sense of the word!"

He then assumed a yoga lotus position on the floor of the hall. Within seconds, a tulpa of Angel was hovering in the air, directly above the sifu's cranium!

"This is the sinner we must deliver up to Yomi's judgment. This...is your target for tonight."

**tbc**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**THE HAVEN, SAN FRANCISCO**

**(10:30 P.M./PST)**

The rental van had backed up to the delivery entrance of the nightclub with an annoyingly steady "beep-beep-beep." At roughly the same time, two Can-Am Spyers (painted fiery red with black trim) came tearing down the street in front of the nightclub. Firing handlebar-mounted machine guns straight at the lined-up people waiting to go in!

That these machine guns were loaded with blanks was completely unknown to the would-be customers. They still screamed and scattered, just as the Spyders' drivers had intended. And, upon reaching the curb in front of the club, they screeched to a stop at a ninety-degree angle to their original trajectory. Thereby allowing the armor-plated Humvee H2 stretch limousine they had been escorting to pass between them. And, subsequently, crash its way into the lobby of the Haven!

Backed up by their escorts, the ten Hopping Ghosts who poured forth from the limo were armed with chain-whips, hook swords, and escrima sticks. Wielding these with their devil-tiger style of kung fu, they initially proved more than a match for the Gangrel bouncers on duty in the lobby. Resulting in reinforcements having to be called from elsewhere in the club...including the area of the cocktail lounge nearest the doors to the kitchen. Consequently, there was no one to notice the thirty or so more Hopping Ghosts who came pouring out of the rental van to go charging through the kitchen!

Not even Sonny Toussaint, Mick St. John, and Angel, who had been drawn to the fracas in the lobby.

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

While Sonny got on his cellphone to call for a S.W.A.T. team, Angel and I suddenly heard the most startling sound, yet, The sound of a wolf's howl...right behind us! We spun as one, and saw a huge werewolf encircled by a bunch of guys in fiery red kung fu gis. And, as there were several sets of identical-yet-currently-unoccupied clothing on the floor, at its feet, it was easy to deduce that the others weren't too thrilled about what it had done to their fellow Hopping Ghosts.

"You wanna help the Gangrels, or the Garou?" Angel asked me.

I grinned: "I've always been a sucker for the underdog."

So, we waded in on the side of the werewolf.

Two of the Hopping Ghosts immediately turned to dust as soon as we had twisted their heads off at the neck. That instantly got us noticed by the rest. But, by that time, Angel was swinging his confiscated chain-whip around like Will Rogers doing a rope trick. While I made like Bruce Lee with my confiscated pair of hook swords.

Naturally, the werewolf took full advantage of this newest distraction to spring forward and land on two more Hopping Ghosts! One getting knocked aside; the other having his head literally chewed off. The former was pulled back to his feet by two more of the Hopping Ghosts. And, they would have immediately triple-teamed that Garou into the lycanthropic here-after if not for one thing.

A purple-skinned cowboy named Boone.

Lindsey McDonald had come to the Haven nearly three hours earlier. As that was where the local informant for Wolfram and Hart had told them Angel would be appearing around eight o'clock. So, he had spent the time drinking glass after glass of what he called "liquid courage" (with a soda chaser).

Finally, just as he was about to call Boone on his cellphone, and tell him that they must have been misled, Angel had shown up. Accompanied by Julian's pet cop and the vamp gumshoe. So, once more he tried to cellphone Boone. Only to be interrupted, again. This time, by the Hopping Ghosts and a werewolf!

"Boone, we got trouble! Get your ass in here. Now!"

The bounty-hunting demon had already seen the rental van, however. And, he had easily sensed the negative energies coming from its cargo compartment. Consequently, he was barging in from the Haven's kitchen almost as soon as Lindsey had hung up. And, not even the martial arts prowess of the Hopping Ghosts could stand up to his metal-encased fists and arms.

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

We had maneuvered about like we were joined at the hip. Angel, using the chain-whip to trip up each of our opponents. Me, twirling about in front of him, when he had done so, in order to decapitate that opponent with the hook swords! Of course, even with the aid of this mysterious werewolf, we were still out-numbered almost ten to one. With new Hopping Ghosts coming in from the lobby to replace everyone we dusted.

It was during one of the less and less frequent micro-second pauses in the fighting that I saw him again. Boone; the Stetson-wearing demon from the barfight in Sunnydale. And, that was when I remembered one of the first axioms I had learned as an LAPD police detective.

"Once is coincidence," I muttered: "Twice or more? That's a pattern!"

**tbc**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**SFPD HEADQUARTERS**

**(10:45 P.M.)**

Detective Frank Kohanek had just finished typing up his report, on the incident at the Purple Dragon Restaurant, when klaxons suddenly began blaring throughout the station. Naturally, this prompted him to demand of one of the uniformed officers what was going on.

"A 10-34," replied the latter, giving the code number for a riot in progress.

"Where at?"

"The Haven."

That was all Kohanek needed to know. He hurriedly grabbed his sidearm and a Kevlar vest, before making for his car. Unknowingly providing escort for the S.W.A.T. team as they headed for Lily Langtry's place.

Also unknown to him, at that moment, was the presence of a stow-away in his trunk!

For it just so happened that, two minutes before the klaxons went off, Buffy Summers had been stricken with her second migraine of that evening. Which was promptly followed by a vision of Angel fighting for his life against a whole bunch of Chinese vampires. Plus, two or three Fyarl demons.

And, one of them had succeeded in capturing him.

**THE HAVEN**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I wasn't the only one who recognized him.

"Boone?" Angel exclaimed.

"Fight...now!" the purple demon replied: "Reminisce...later."

The tenacity of the Hopping Ghosts was enough to convince Angel to follow that advice. Nor were we alone in doing so. For, in addition to that mysterious werewolf (who was now covering Sonny Toussaint's back), we were now joined by Cash and Daedalus, from the Conclave! And, while a Gangrel in lycan-mode can be just as deadly as a real werewolf, a Nosferatu in "ancestral" mode is something not even a Clan Tremere gargoyle won't hesitate to take on.

It certainly made Daedalus more than a match for the devil-tiger kung fu of our enemies. Every time they tried to lasso him with their chain-whips, he'd reel them in like fish on a line, and use it to strangle them (before ripping off their heads with his bare hands). He similarly disemboweled and decapitated them with their own hook-swords. And, while our enemies had initially seemed endless in number, that soon proved otherwise. Because, one moment we were surrounded. The next moment; we were in the middle of a cloud of vamp-ash!

At which point, Angel took the opportunity to walk up to Boone and thank him.

"It's been what? Eighty years?" he added.

Boone nodded: "Something like that."

"Then, that's two favors I owe you."

"In which case, you can repay both of 'em in one fell swoop. By returning to L.A. with me."

There was a moment of stunned silence in the room. A silence that was finally (and succinctly) broken by Sonny.

"Say what?"

"I've been retained by Wolfram and Hart, Angel. To bring you back by any means necessary. I'm hoping you'll come along peaceably."

"And, if I don't?" asked Angel.

Boone's only response was to snap his fingers. The next thing I know, there's a twenty-something standing right behind him. A guy with dark hair; light-brown skin; and an ensemble straight out of THE ARABIAN KNIGHTS!

Including an overgrown fez on his head.

"Gee!" I remarked: "I didn't know the Shriner Circus was in town."

"This is Lak Nepp," Boone replied: "He's a biomedically augmented mage of the Ahl-i-Batin Craft. And, he's been using his talents to screen us from your senses, Mr. Saint John."

" '_Us_?' " I echoed.

Lak Nepp smiled, and closed his eyes. When he re-opened them, there were suddenly three others in the room with us! A mortal Caucasian introduced as Lindsey McDonald...and two Fyarl demons.

"As you can see," declared Boone: "...I also came here prepared to do this the _hard_ way. And, it looks like I'm going to have to do just that."

**tbc**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21.**

**SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA**

**11:30 P.M. (PST)**

It had been almost an hour since he had hung up on the gloating Ethan Rayne. In that time, Giles had made half a dozen attempts each to contact both the Watchers' Council and the Ruling Legacy House. And, each failure to do so had only served to make him more frustrated and temperamental. Something that would have been a mistake, on the part of the one(s) ignoring him, back in his "_Ripper_" days!

Then, just as he was about to vent his anger by throwing it through his living room window, the phone rang on his end.

"About bloody time," he muttered (letting it ring twice more before picking it up).

"Hello?" he carefully inquired, in his calmest professional manner.

"Mr. Rupert Giles?" replied the equally inquisitive voice at the other end.

"Yes?"

"Is this the same Mr. Giles who serves as Watcher to the current Slayer?"

Naturally, that piqued his immediate interest. He demanded- - in a tone now more firm than polite- -to know who was calling.

"My name is Father Adam Guiteau. Officially, I am special internuncio between the Vatican and the U.S. Army Chief of Chaplains. But, I'm also personal liaison to the Legacy's Boston House. And, its Precept has informed me that you are their leading expert on occult artifacts of power."

"Forgive me for saying so, Father. But, should you be stating that so boldly on an open line?"

"Don't worry. One of the perks of my official job is access to NSA technology. Including devices that can scramble both ends of a telephonic conversation!"

"In that case, how may I help you?"

"I assume you heard about the heinous attack on the St. Ioannes monastery?"

"A safe assumption, to put it mildly."

"Well, it turns out that it wasn't the first such attack. There was an earlier one, near Prague. And, in both cases, an object of power being guarded by the resident clergy. . .was stolen."

"Oh, dear! What objects of power, specifically?"

"From Prague? An Orb of Thesulah. And, from Crete? A Dagon-sphere."

This time, Giles could not be politically correct in his exclamations.

"Good Lord!"

"My sentiments, exactly," replied the padre.

Giles then calmed down enough to ask how he could be of service. Father Guiteau replied that one of the NATO marines, assisting the Greek army at St. Ioannes, had found evidence that there might be at least one survivor of the massacre. A certain Brother Demetrius, to be exact.

"That evidence," he added: ". . .included documents with the names of both yourself _and_ the current Slayer! Which leads me to believe that this Brother Demetrius might be on his way to see you."

**SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA**

**(SOMEWHAT EARLIER)**

Angel was momentarily dumbfounded by what Boone had so boldly told him. Then, he snapped out of it.

"Is Wolfram and Hart working for the Brujah Clan, now?"

Boone shook his head: "They got their own reasons for wanting you back in L.A. What they are, I don't know. Nor care!"

"Neither do I," replied Angel: "But, as long as I'm still under sentence of Final Death, I know I'm not going anywhere near Cyrus' stomping grounds. For any reason!"

"I was afraid you'd say that," sighed Boone. He then turned to the Fyarl demons, and literally barked an order to them. And, if real life came with sub-titles, that order would have translated into English as:

"OK, boys! Time to go to work."

**tbc **


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22.**

**SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.**

**(10:59 P.M./PST).**

Detective Frank Kohanek pulled his car to a stop in front of the Haven. Sure enough; the sounds of violent fighting clearly emanated from within. But, even had they not, the Hum-Vee limo (still stuck halfway through the main entrance) was proof enough in itself that something was wrong at this club!

He looked in the rearview mirror, and saw the red flashing lights of the S.W.A.T. team van getting ever closer. So, he hurriedly got out of the car, to get his own "_special weapons_" out of the trunk prior to their arrival. In this case, the weapons were a fireman's axe and an M-16/M-203 combo. The latter having been custom-modified to fire silver tracer bullets...along with stake-like wooden javelins from the built-on grenade launcher.

Imagine his shock, then, at finding the trunk open and empty. And, then, seeing a petite blonde girl, dressed all in black, running towards a nearby alleyway already bearing those self-same arms!

When Lindsey McDonald heard Boone issue whatever order he had given, to the Fyarl demons, he immediately carried out his own pre-set instructions. Which is why he immediately jumped around and ambidextrously threw sneezing power into the Fyarls' faces!

Angel, on seeing this, immediately exclaimed: "Fire in the hole!"

Sonny Toussaint and Mick St. John had no trouble interpreting that slang expression, and reacted accordingly. Diving behind a set of over-turned tables and righting them back up, for usage as shields. But, Daedalus, Cash, and the mysterious werewolf were not so lucky.

"AHHHHH-CHOO!" chorused the demons. The result being a veritable downpour of greenish-colored mucus flying over the latter trio. Paralyzing them where they stood like the neuro-toxic venom of a Portuguese man o' war! Leaving the Fyarls free to lumber forward, and demolish the impromptu hiding place of the three other vampires.

Kohanek drew his 9mm Beretta and chased after the blonde. He intended to get within shooting distance and yell the customary warning to freeze. Yet, just as he entered the alley, he got the second greatest shock of that night. He saw the petite blonde leap to the top of a rather cumbersome moving van in three effortless, somersaulting bounds!

"What the frig...?" he muttered to himself.

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I had heard of Fyarl demons, before, but I had never met one. Let alone, two! And, let me tell you; they quickly confirmed that what I had heard was no exaggeration. Imagine a cross between the Incredible Hulk and a bighorn sheep!

That's who I felt like I was fighting against.

As soon as one of them had tossed aside the snot-covered table I had temporarily hidden behind, I sprang to my feet and gave it an eye-blurring one/two punch to its jaw.

"Owwwwwwwwww!" I yelped. Both my fists felt like I had belted a jawbone made of cast iron. Unfortunately, for me, that proved just enough of an interval for it to pick me up and fling me in Sonny's direction. Just as the other Fyarl was doing the same thing to him.

The two of us collided in mid-air with a resounding "_wham_!"

The last thing I remember hearing, as I uncontrollably blacked out, was the demon called Boone saying:

"OK, Angel! Put up your dukes."

**tbc**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23.**

"OK, Angel!" exclaimed Boone: "Put up your dukes."

Angel massaged the bridge of his nose, with his right hand, as he sighed: "Different city; same old crap."

Whereupon, he suddenly ran forwards and tackled Boone to the ground, in a move that would have been the envy of an NFL quarterback! The only trouble was that, even as the purple-skinned demon landed flat on his back, he was using Angel's momentum to lift both legs underneath him. With the result being that Angel found himself being kicked off Boone's upper torso, and landing flat on _his_ back.

The two of them rolled over on to their stomachs, and sprang to their feet, in perfect unison.

"A mighty sneaky move, Angel. You ruined my Stetson!"

Boone threw the cowboy hat to his left, as if to emphasize his point.

"Then let's call it another draw," replied Angel: "Before I have to ruin your whole body!"

"I can't do that. I got a code of honor to uphold."

Whereupon, Boone now charged towards Angel! With the latter deciding to meet him half-way.

Lindsey McDonald, watching this from the sidelines, mentally compared it to watching a videotaped heavy-weight wrestling championship on fast-forward. With Angel ducking Boone's first two, metal-enwrapped swings, and landing two of his own. Only for Boone to block the third with his left arm, and punch Angel in the stomach with the clenched fist of his right.

Yet, when Boone moved in to finish subduing his opponent, Angel (still doubled over) turned out to have been playing 'possum. He head-butted Boone in the stomach, then unbent upwards, so that he head-butted Boone square in the jaw. Followed by a third head-butt to the bounty hunter's forehead!

This sent Boone staggering backwards. And, he did so just long enough for Angel to once more tackle him to the ground. Only this time, he not only stayed atop him. He also began pummeling the purple-skinned demon right and left. Trying to knock him unconscious through sheer quantity of blows.

Boone, however, was made of sterner stuff. A fact he demonstrated when he gave a roar worthy of a Viking berserker and grabbed the lapel of Angel's white shirt. Using that as leverage for a roll to the latter's right. So that, now, Boone was the one sitting atop Angel, and raining him with steel-hard blow after blow after blow!

**MEANWHILE, AT SAN FRANCISCO POLICE HEADQUARTERS...**

Cordie slowly awoke from her crying-induced nap. For a few seconds, she was completely disoriented. Not remembering where she was, or why. Then, it all came back to her. The ambush at the Chinatown hotel, the ninja vamp, and Doyle.

"Buffy?" she called out, looking around for the Slayer.

"Excuse me, miss," said a young tow-headed police detective with a tan trench coat: "Are you looking for that petite blonde girl with the pony-tail?"

"Yeah," replied Cordie: "Do you know where she is?"

The detective (who bore a slight resemblance to David Bowie) nodded: "She asked me to escort you to her the moment you woke up. So, if you'll follow me, please? I'm John Blalock, by the way."

"Cordelia Chase," she replied, shaking hands as she trailed the detective into an elevator. They rode in it all the way to the top floor. When they exited, they turned to their left and went to the end of the hall. There, they went through a gray-painted metal door, and climbed a flight of stairs to the roof.

"Buffy?" Cordie called out as they emerged: "Where are...MMMMMMPH!"

She tried to struggle as the chloroform-soaked handkerchief went over her nose and mouth. But, as desperate as her struggles were, Blalock's left-handed grip proved just as unbreakable as the right-handed one pinning both of her arms to her sides. And, only when Cordie had ceased struggling, did he resume his true appearance. Which most people would probably have described as a bald alien from outer space!

An assumption that would seemingly have been verified by the fact that Blalock-after cradling Cordie across both arms-teleported away with her.

**tbc**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24.**

**SOMWHERE IN THE INDO-PACIFIC **

The S.S. Vlodnik was a Russian freighter of Panamanian registry. Eight hours earlier, it had passed through the Suez Canal en route from Odessa, in the Ukraine, to San Francisco, California. And, the vessel's only passengers were a group of Brown Friars (who must have been severely vitamin-deficient as they were of strangely short stature); and a young, bikini-clad American woman with brownish-blonde hair (whose looks were more lovely than her manners).

This latter fact was verified when John Blalock rematerialized aboard the ship, right next to the lounge chair where she was sunning herself.

"About time you got here!" she complained, partially lowering her sunglasses.

"A thousand pardons, Your Gloriousness. But, I had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself, before I could make my move on this girl."

He partially raised the still-unconscious Cordie in his arms, before lowering her to the wooden deck. Following which, Glory rose from the lounge chair, and straddled the prone figure of the brunette debutante like the Colossus of Rhodes.

"Not bad, Blalock! Not bad, at all."

"Thank you, Your Gloriousness," he replied, with a courtly bow: "I live only to serve you."

She looked at the Kiasyd, with condescending amusement.*

"If you want to _continue_ living, you'd better tell the captain of this overgrown bath toy to crank it up to full speed. Because, the sooner I meet up with that Toth demon, the happier everyone will be. Understand?"

Blalock bowed again: "As you wish, Your Gloriousness."

**SAN FRANCISCO**

**(11:15 P.M.)**

The Haven's main showroom had now lost all semblance to a 20th century nightclub. It now looked more like an Old West saloon after a massive drunken brawl. And, the purple-skinned demon called Boone was currently pounding away on Angel like some heroic gunslinger's arch-enemy.

But Angel had not succumbed to unconsciousness, just yet. The next time Boone's metallic right fist came flying towards Angel's left cheek, the latter's left hand was there to intercept. Allowing Angel to throw the bounty hunter off of him (likewise to the left). Following which, he picked Boone up bodily, in a fireman's carry, and began spinning him around and around!

When Angel had gained enough momentum, he threw Boone away from him...right towards the two Fyarl demons.

"Whoa!" screamed Lindsey McDonald, as he flung himself to the floor, face-first. Thereby, narrowly missing being hit by Boone. Indeed, when the young lawyer got back up, he took one look at Boone and said: "Screw this! Enough is enough. Lak? Help me get these two over-priced lugs back on their feet."

The Ahl-i-batin mage telepathically relayed the command to the Fyarls, who proved surprisingly agile in carrying it out. Whereupon, Lindsey got out some more of the sneezing powder.

"OK, boys. Time to inhale."

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Lindsey looked between and behind the Fyarls. The voice that had issued the command had been female. And, the only female in the immediate area was a petite, pony-tailed blonde with an axe in her hands. Not to mention, a modified M-16 slung, left-to-right, over her shoulders. In addition, she was suddenly joined by a bearded white man with the gold badge of an SFPD detective draped over his left pants pocket.

"I don't who you are," said Frank Kohanek: "But, if you don't drop that white powder, right now, I'm gonna assume its anthrax, and lodge a bullet right between your eyes."

To emphasize, he aimed his semi-automatic handgun in that stated direction.

**tbc**

*Kiasyd: a bloodline of Sabbat Clan LaSombra. Said to be derived from the Embracing, or vampirization, of a changeling (half-mortal fae). Hence, the reputed resemblance of all Kindred, in that bloodline, to the gray-skinned extra-terrestrials of modern urban legend.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25.**

There followed an eternity of indecision (which was more like ten seconds of real time) on Lindsey McDonald's part. But, he ultimately decided to acquiesce. Lak Nepp noticed this when he saw Lindsey slowly turn his clenched fists downward, so as to let the sneezing powder drop to the floor. Whereupon, the fez-wearing mage closed his eyes...and concentrated.

As a result, Lindsey was psychokinetically forced to follow through on his original intent.

"Last warning!" exclaimed Kohanek.

"No!" screamed Lindsey: "Don't...!"

There was a thunderous report from Kohanek's Beretta 9mm. Followed by Lindsey McDonald's corpse landing flat on his back. His now-blank eyes staring upward at the ceiling. This, in turn, caused the Fyarl demons to roar in anger and charge straight at the police detective. Fortunately, for him, Buffy was lighter and faster. She charged forward, also, swinging the fireman's axe counter-clockwise in the process. And, as the axe head descended, she slid into a crouch. Thereby depriving the first Fyarl demon of his left foreleg, halfway between knee and hoof!

Kohanek side-stepped its crash landing on the floor, and finished it off by emptying his clip into its left eye. Meanwhile, Buffy (using the momentum from that spinning amputation) sprang upward from the floor. Simultaneously swinging the axe from right to left. . .and consequently lodging it in the second Fyarl's throat. The latter gurgled in pain as it sought to dislodge the source of its torment. But, Buffy was not done. In less time than it takes to tell, she had unslung the modified M-16 and aimed it. Using the zen archery training she normally incorporated into firing crossbows, she then pulled the trigger. Subsequently firing the assault rifle's entire ammo clip into both its eyes!

It was at this point that the SFPD SWAT team finally managed to get past the mucus-covered front half of the Hummer limousine (Lak Nepp having caused them to sneeze all over it, to reinforce the barricade).

**MEANWHILE, AT SUNNYDALE GENERAL HOSPITAL. . .**

D.R.I. Agent Doyle looked up as his younger partner returned from getting an update on the situation in Greece.

"Well?"

"It's been confirmed," replied Agent Mannetti: "One of the St. Ionnanes monks is unaccounted for. HQ thinks he's headed here, to meet the Slayer. But, she's still pre-occupied, up in Frisco. So, we've been given the green light. We transfer this one to the Dollhouse."

Within ten minutes, a paramedical helicopter was transporting them and the comatose Faith Lehane to a Learjet at the Sunnydale Commuter Airport.

tbc


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26.**

**THE HAVEN, SAN FRANCISCO**

Giles would probably have called it "overkill" to have emptied the whole clip of silver bullets into both of the Fyarl demon's eyes. But, from what Buffy had read in his tomes, these things were like the old Viking berserkers of medieval Europe. Almost unstoppable (even with their vulnerability to silver), once they had worked themselves up to a proper fury!

That was when she heard his voice.

"Buffy?"

"Oz? What are you doing here?"

"Our band was hired for a two-week gig, here. How about yourself?"

"Uhm! I think we'd better table any further discussion until you can put on some street clothes."

Oz looked down: "Oh, yeah! Sorry about that. I've had some further training in shapeshifting. This is my Glabro form (or, as I like to call it, ' Bigfoot mode'). It's easier to communicate this way than in my Krinos form."

Meanwhile, Lak Nepp was starting to tip-toe backwards, towards the Haven's kitchen. That way, he would be able to maintain line-of-sight on those he wished not to see him depart. Unfortunately, for him, he had forgotten one or two others in the general excitement.

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

Sonny Toussaint and I had just regained consciousness. And, the first thing I saw (besides a heavily-armed Buffy standing over the carcass of a Fyarl Demon) was that Shriner impersonator making a stealthy bee-line for the nightclub kitchen. So, I carefully counted to three before sprinting around and behind him as only a vampire can!

"Going somewhere?" I sarcastically whispered, as I put his right arm in a half-Nelson, while putting my left arm around his neck!

"Not yet, he isn't!" snapped Lily Langtry: "Julian, Nick, and I have been on the roof, watching the SFPD S.W.A.T. team trying to get through the front door. And, they're using some kind of chemical solvent on the Fyarl snot currently sealing it up! Exactly what kind, I don't know. But, it's working fast. Their first wave will be inside, here, any minute! So, _you_..."

It was at this point her fangs shot to full length, and her eyes became a fiery orange, before she covered Lak Nepp's ears with her hands.

"..._you_ are going to use that telepathic hoodoo that you do so well, and make them see something else. Something that will explain what happened here, tonight, more conventionally. Or, I swear to Cain, I will tear your fez-wearing head off your shoulders with my bare hands!"

"You'd better follow her advice," I added: "She's the Toreador primogen of this city. So, I'd be obliged to give you to her, if she so ordered it."

No sooner had she said this than the a pair of S.W.A.T. point men came rushing in. Crouching down, M-16's raised and pointed, and shouting for everyone in their sights to freeze. Sonny Toussaint later told me that Nepp had evidently made them think the two dead Fyarl demons were actually just a couple of bulked-up, trigger-happy bikers who had apparently been on a steroidal rampage. Nick used his own powers of hypno-persuasion (while giving his preliminary statement) to make sure they continued seeing that. And, nothing else! As for after their corpses reached the police morgue?

Nick, Sonny, and Daedalus would infiltrate it, steal the bodies, and dump them in San Francisco Bay for the dining pleasure of the local Rokea. As for Lak Nepp, himself? Lily kept her word about not manually decapitating him, immediately afterward.

She let Daedalus have that privilege.

It was not a pretty sight, believe me. Especially, when Nepp's fez fell to the ground, revealing what Boone had meant by "bio-medically augmented." The guy's brain looked like a football with twp Bactrian camel humps!

Of course, by the time all the cops had left, Buffy had retreated upstairs with me, Angel, Boone, Detective Kohanek, and Prince Julian. The latter having given his consent for us to talk things over in the private office he maintained, on the premises, as the club's silent partner.

If nothing else, it was going to be interesting. Of that much, I was sure.

**tbc **


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27.**

**THE HAVEN, SAN FRANCISCO**

**(11:35 P.M./PST) **

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

Prince Julian gestured for everyone else present to sit down. He then did so, himself, steepling his fingers together before looking straight at Boone, and uttering those three little words:

"Talk to me."

I have to give him credit. Boone stared right back at him, just as unblinkingly.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why risk reprisals to yourself and your employers by invading my nightclub? Are you being paid that much by Wolfram and Hart?"

"It's not so much the money, Your Highness, as the challenge. And, the unanswered question between us. Me and Angel, I mean. "

"What unanswered question?" demanded Buffy (who still had that modified M-16 cradled in her arms).

"Whether he could still take me in a fair fight, even at my full capacity," replied Angel.

"What?" she exclaimed: "Of all the stupid, macho...!"

"I don't think is the right time or place for a feminist diatribe on the alleged evils of testosterone," Detective Kohanek bluntly interrupted.

Prince Julian agreed with him, albeit more politely and apologetically.

"Fine," she acquiesced, before turning to Angel and adding: "But, you better believe I am gonna yell at you, _twice as loud_, when we get back to the hotel!"

"Of that, I have no doubt," the poor guy muttered.

I quickly got us back on track, though, when I asked Boone what he did know about Wolfram and Hart's reasons for hiring him to capture Angel.

"Are they just trying to kiss Brujah-butt? Or, is there more to it than that?"

Boone smirked: "Door Number Two, I'd say. Whatever they want Angel for, it's definitely not related to the Final Death ordered for him by Cyrus. In fact, I'd say that the Prince of L.A. would be mighty _pissed_ if he found out his favorite law firm was working at cross-purposes to him."

"Speaking of which," I said: "Has anyone determined how that Japanese Assamite found out about the time Sonny was supposed to rendezvous with us at the House of Lavender Flame?"

Prince Julian shook his head: "The only ones who knew about it were myself, the rest of the Conclave, Sonny and..."

His eyes bulged like an anime character's as I nodded, in completion of his thought.

"...Lee Pow IV."

**RUPERT GILES' APARTMENT,**

**SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA**

**(11:45 P.M./PST)**

"Presidential Suite," said the youthful voice at the other end of the phone line: "Vice-President Harris speaking."

"Xander? It's me."

"Hey, G-Man! Nice to hear from you. How are things at home?"

"Not good. In fact, I've just received some dire news. And, I need to apprise Buffy of it, immediately!"

"Sorry, G-Man. She's still at the local cop-shop, with Cordelia. Is it something I can relay to her when she gets back?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to. So, listen very carefully."

Twenty minutes later, Giles was asking if Xander had memorized everything correctly. The latter's reply was unusual, but understandable.

"Holy Crap Molasses!"

"Indeed," agreed Giles.

Cordelia yawned as she awoke. Then, she put her left hand to her forehead, feeling more hung over than that time she had ordered a Long Island "ice tea" at the Bronze. Not knowing there was no genuine tea in it!

"Buffy?" she softly called out: "Detective Blalock?"

"I'm afraid there's no one here by either of those names," replied a male voice to her right.

She gasped as she finally spotted the slightly older man. He wore a blue outfit, carried a clipboard in both hands, and had a stethoscope draped around his neck.

"Who are you?" she demanded: "Where am I? And, what am I doing here?"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa!" he exclaimed, coming over to calm her down: "It's alright. You're in the sickbay of the S.S. Vlodnik. And, I'm the ship's doctor. Dr. Wilkinson, to be exact! But, you can call me 'Ben.' "

**tbc**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28.**

**SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT HILTON**

**(MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.)**

It was midnight by the time we got back to the Presidential Suite. When I say "_we_," I mean me and Angel. The latter had been given a temporary reprieve from the bawling out Buffy had promised him, when Detective Kohanek reminded her that Cordelia was still at SFPD headquarters. So, he had driven her there, while Sonny Toussaint drove the two of us back to the hotel.

The first thing we heard, when we entered the suite, was Willow and Xander with a perfectly synchronized chorus of:

"Where's Buffy?"

"She went to pick up Cordelia," replied Angel: "Detective Toussaint's partner should have the two of them back here in about half an hour."

"Why?" I added. "What's wrong?"

"Plenty!" declared Xander.

He then told us about a phone call he had gotten from Giles. About the massacres at the St. Ioannes monastery in Crete, and the St. Wenceslaus monastery in the Czech Republic. And, how they weren't really "_terrorist attacks_," as the authorities had told the news media.

"He said they were actually raided by some kind of super Big Bad! Looking to use an Orb of Thesulah in conjunction with something called a Dagon-sphere."

At the mention of those last two words, I swear I saw Angel turn whiter than the silk night gowns worn by Josef's girl friends.

"What's a Dagon-sphere?" I asked, cutting right to the chase.

"Well, according to Giles," Xander replied: "The saint that the Greek monastery is named for was better known to us mere mortals, in the Middle Ages, as Johannes the Presbyter. Or, Prester John, for short!"

As it turns out, there was more to the legend of Prester John than most people realized. He had born in the Four Valleys region of medieval Germany as a Kinsman of the Black Fury Garou (a matriarchal tribe of werewolves), who gave all their male children up for adoption. In Johannes' case, he was raised by the shapeshifting Hermetic wizards of House Bjornaer, in the Harz Mountains. But, later on in life, he transferred to House Castrovilli, which the Order of Hermes had founded to investigate Biblical miracles.

Through them, he became affiliated with the Christian mystics of the Celestial Chorus, in general. And, the Monist Brothers of St. Christopher, in particular. It was in the latter capacity that he battled-and vanquished-an Embraced Nashimite of Clan Tremere.

The Nashimites of the Celestial Chorus were religious fanatics, who believed that the corruption of the physical world equally corrupted the spirit world. And, circa 1200 A.D., one certain Nashimite decided to remedy this for all time. He used the sorcery taught him by his vampiric sire to undergo a ritual called the Ascension. A ritual that resulted in his becoming the super-powerful avatar for a soul-killer demon called Lohesh!

"Imagine Jack the Ripper with Superman's powers," added Willow: "And, you might get the idea."

"In any event," resumed Xander: "...it took almost all of Johannes' powers to bring down Lohesh. Plus, the help of three mystical talismans! The Dagon-sphere (named for the first such uber-demon it was used against) to stun him. A brass-tipped wooden rod, called the Ferrula Geminiarum, to split Lohesh and the Nashimite apart. And, the Orb of Thesulah, to put the Nashimite's vampirized body into torpor, by absorbing his essence! It was only after the body was staked through the heart and cremated that the Nashimite's essence was released into the here-after."

"And, following that?" continued Willow: "The three talismans were sent to separate churches, because Johannes felt they were too collectively powerful for anyone else to resist using them for more nefarious purposes."

"A nail that he seems to have hit right on the head," I remarked: "Where's the third talisman? That wooden rod?"

"The Council of Watchers sent it to the Smithsonian Institute, for safe-keeping, during the London Blitz of World War II," said Xander: "There's only one problem."

"Don't tell me...!" Angel began to exclaim.

Willow nodded: "The Smithsonian just reported a break-in to the FBI."

**SFPD HQ.**

**12:15 A.M.**

Buffy and Kohanek went straight to the waiting room from the parking garage. Upon arriving, they found Cordelia gone. Fortunately, there was a familiar face nearby of whom the stubble-faced, dark-haired police detective could inquire. A stocky male Caucasian who wore a well-tailored suit that was the same shade of yellowish-brown as his hair and "Vandyke" (moustache/goatee combo). *

"Hey, Rick!"

"Oh! Hi, Frank. Who's your friend?"

"Buffy Summers? Detective Bettina. Ms. Summers was one of the witnesses to that scrap at the Purple Dragon earlier this evening. I just finished taking her statement. Did you see the other girl? The one who was in here?"

"You mean that brunette hottie? Yeah, she already left."

"She left!" echoed Buffy, in shock: "Alone?"

"No, she went somewhere upstairs with a Detective Blalock. Must be a new guy. Never saw him before today!"

"What does he look like?" asked Kohanek (looking briefly at Buffy).

"You can't miss him. Skinny; whitish-blond hair; a little taller than me. And, he talks with a limey accent. In fact, he looks a little like... David Bowie!"

"Spike!" muttered Buffy, before running toward the nearest stairwell. With Kohanek vainly trying to keep up with her. "Bettina" smirked to himself, as he entered the nearest men's room...before exiting it, a moment later, as "Blalock."

"So, you're telling me I'm on a ship somewhere in the Indian Ocean?" exclaimed Cordelia (quite shrilly): "That's not possible! The last thing I remember, I was sleeping off a good cry, in a police station, in San Francisco!"

"With all due respect, Ms. Chase," replied Ben: "You must've been having a fever dream as a side-effect of that seafood poisoning. You're actually a movie actress who just finished shooting her part in some horror film, about pterodactyl men, on location in New Guinea. And, you ate some bad clams at the wrap party. Now, we're headed back to Sydney to put you on a plane bound for Los Angeles, and the UCLA Medical Center."

Cordelia opened her mouth to protest. But, she was suddenly interrupted by the ship's P.A. system.

"Dr. Wilkinson to the bridge," intoned some kind of Slavic accent: "Dr. Wilkinson to the bridge."

"Would you excuse me, please?" he rhetorically asked.

Five minutes later, Ben was in the wheelhouse of the Russian freighter.

"You wanted to see me, Capt. Skorzeny?"

The tall, silver-haired Romanian turned around and grinned.

"We have reached the designated co-ordinates. Equidistant between the Equator and the Tropic of Capricorn. And, at the center of a triangle formed by Madagascar, Sri Lanka, and Cape Leeuwin, Australia. Now, all we have to do is wait for Sarpedon and that Toth demon."

"Good," replied the young physician. "I'm barely keeping her from freaking out, as it is. She'll go twice as berserk if and when she sees Glory appear out of nowhere."

**tbc**

*_Note to fans of LOST: ten years before playing "Leslie Arzdt," actor Daniel Roebuck played the unscrupulously ambitious, politically incorrect "Det. Rick Bettina" on the CBS police drama NASH BRIDGES. He also played "Count Dracula," in a still yet-to-be-released OVA called THE VAMPIRE HUNTERS CLUB._


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29.**

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

**(3:17 A.M./EST)**

The figure in the black-hooded robe waited just inside the storm drain that looked out upon the Potomac River. Growling with ever-mounting impatience. Finally, however, his contact arrived. The arrival preceded by an opaque blur of white. And, what seemingly emerged from that blur was a young, blond-haired man wearing a khaki trench coat with what appeared to be a yellow-and-black striped sash.

There was another blur, of shorter duration. Following which, a creature that looked like a brown-robed hobbit, with leprosy, was standing to the left of the young man! A sight that prompted the impatient figure to lower its hood.

Thereby revealing the red, scaly countenance of a Toth demon.

The latter glared and snarled for a few moments.

"Tothric wants to know what took you so long?" Hobart the Goblin translated.

"Tell him I was slowed down by having to carry a bat-eared monkey on my back! Not to mention this tow rope, and these overgrown tongue depressors!"

Tothric snarled a few more times.

"He says Her Gloriousness does not care for excuses. Only successful results within the deadline allotted us."

"Fine! If he's in such an all-fired hurry, tell him to shut up and put these on. Right now!"

"_These_" turned to out to be a pair of water skis that Sarpedon the Celerity Demon threw to the ground with all the bitter anger he could muster. And, on to which the Toth demon-somewhat awkwardly-placed his feet. Prompting Sarpedon to look at Hobart.

"You know you're on your own from this point."

The goblin nodded: "Don't worry about me. I shall simply make my way to Dulles International Airport, and stow away aboard the first cargo jet bound for the West Coast."

It was at this point that Sarpedon twirled about, once more. Unwinding almost all the tow rope in the process.

"Here," he said to Tothric: "Hang on to this."

"This" turned out to be the wooden cross bar of a trapeze-like triangle. And, no sooner had the Toth demon complied than Sarpedon was racing downstream!

Moments later, he was in the mid-North Atlantic. Heading southeastward, towards the Equator and the Cape of Good Hope, with the Toth demon literally in his wake.

**MEANWHILE, BACK IN SAN FRANCISCO...**

Lee Pow IV paced nervously, back and forth, in his office at the Purple Dragon Restaurant. His nervousness easing only when one of his henchmen knocked on the office door, to report the arrival of the Assamite!

"Thank Goodness!" he exclaimed: "When I overheard some of those police talking about you having killed yoursel..."

He stopped, when he saw the image of Sonny Toussaint in front of him.

"Wh-Why are you still bearing that Ventrue's likeness?"

"It seemed the fastest way to get _this_ out of police hands during the aftermath of that fracas at the Haven."

The Assamite indicated the Medallion of the Scarred Foot, dangling from his right hand. A sight that made Lee Pow IV smile...like a little boy opening his very first Christmas present, all on his own. But, the moment he tried to take it, the Assamite raised his right arm out of the tong leader's reach!

"Wh-Wh-What is the meaning of this?"

"You double-crossed me, Lee. You hired other kuei-jin to try and get this back! I don't appreciate that. So, we're going to have re-negotiate our contract."

The tong leader glared at him:

"We are not re-negotiating _anything_! The sum of money I paid you and Ethan Rayne, up front, is more-than-considerable. Not one penny more will you get from me!"

Whereupon, the "_Assamite_" withdrew a cellphone, on "_speaker_" mode, from his left jacket pocket.

"You get all that, Julian?"

"Loud and clear, Sonny. You know what to do."

The death scream of Lee Pow IV was shrill. But, mercifully short.

**tbc**


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30.**

**SOMEWHERE IN THE INDO-PACIFIC**

Considering who and what he was towing, taking only an hour to cross the Atlantic (and round the South African Cape of Good Hope) was an amazing feat for Sarpedon. Even so, he breathed a sigh of relief upon sighting the S.S. Vlodnik, right where Hobart had told it would be. It meant he could finally get rid of that not-so-lightweight Toth demon!

Micro-seconds later, he swerved up to and away from a rope ladder dangling over the starboard side of the ship. And the Tothric (who had been carefully instructed, again and again, to prepare for this moment) immediately dropped the cross bar he had been holding on to. Letting residual speed and momentum do the rest.

Even so, there was a temporary twinge of pain as he grasped at one of the eye-level rungs of the rope ladder and, then, swung upward at a ninety-degree angle. At the height of that swing, he got rid of the water skis and continued his ascent to the Russian freighter's deck.

Waiting for him there were about half a dozen goblins who could have been clones of Hobart. Along with Dr. Ben Wilkinson, whom they flanked in two groups of three.

"Are you Tothric?" asked the doctor.

The Toth demon growled and nodded.

"Do you have the rod?"

More growling and nodding.

"Then follow me."

Tothric did so, with the two trios of goblins bringing up the rear. When they got to the one-and-only door to sickbay, Wilkinson went in first. And, he could not help partially smiling when he heard Cordelia complaining to herself.

"What is it with doctor's offices and magazines? Is there, like, some AMA rule that makes it a Federal offense to have a back-issue less than ten years-old?"

"Sorry, Ms. Chase," he replied.

"Oh!" she jumped back, suitably startled, against the head board of the infirmary cot.

"But, beggars can't be choosers," he continued: "I had to steal these from a dental waiting room as it was!"

"Very funny!" she replied, in a tone that clearly implied she regarded it as just the opposite.

"What can I say? I'm a doctor, not a comedian."

"And, I'm not big on Trekkie puns, either!" she retorted: "Nor am I an actress suffering hallucinations. I told you where I really came from. And, I want to use your ship's radio to call the Navy, or the American embassy, or somebody to get me off this tub!"

"And, that's where I think I can help you," said Wilkinson, as he finally reached the left side of the cot. Then, he turned back towards the door to the infirmary and told Tothric to come in. The latter did so. And, naturally, the first thing Cordelia did when she saw him...was to start screaming her metaphorical head off!

With her mouth opened wide like that, it just as naturally left her exposed to a white terry-cloth towel soaked in chloroform. And, when Cordelia had finally succumbed to its effects, Wilkinson turned to Tothric and said:

"Let's get this over with."

Tothric advanced. Withdrawing the Ferrula Geminiarum as he did so. He then aimed it in Wilkinson's direction, and willed a sickly-green beam of light to fire from it. The beam hit Wilkinson, enveloping him in an opaque blur. And, when the blur faded away?

"Well, well, well!" said Glory (arms akimbo on her scantily-clad body): "I'd make a joke about being beside myself. But, something tells me you wouldn't appreciate it."

"And, you'd be right," growled the young doctor: "Let's complete this ritual before the re-merging factor kicks in!"

"Where's the Orb?"

Wilkinson handed her the small glass globule. Whereupon, she placed it in the palm of her left hand. . .while phasing the fingers of her right hand into Cordelia's forehead. The ensuing pain rousing the poor girl from her forcibly-induced slumber.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A moment later, the Orb of Thesulah was glowing. And, Cordelia was once more mercifully unconscious. Glory, however, appeared to be just as weak, as she suddenly staggered a bit. Indeed, she probably would have fallen to the floor if Wilkinson had not caught her in time!

He swiftly laid her down on top of Cordelia. Then, he turned to the Toth demon and yelled:

"Quickly! Do it now!"

There was another sickly-green beam of light. Only, this one enveloped the two women on the cot. And, when the resulting opaque blur had faded away for a second time?

Only one was still there.

Wilkinson picked up the Orb of Thesulah from where it had dropped to the floor (remarkably, without breaking), and put it away in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. He then returned to the cot with a small plastic capsule of smelling salts. The type that could easily be opened up with enough bending.

Two seconds later, Cordelia was sitting bolt upright in bed.

"Ugh! Pew! Get that stuff out of my face!"

"Are you all right, Ms. Chase?" asked Wilkinson, a small note of trepidation in his voice.

"Who the frig is Ms. Chase? You can call me _'Your Gloriousness_'."

tbc


	31. Chapter 31

I recently received an e-mail from Carycomic who is the author of some of the stories I've posted.

_I have a moderately small favor to ask. I'm momentarily stuck, re: the formulation of chapter 31 for DIFFERENT CITY/SAME OLD CRAP. Would you be able to post the following as an interim one-shot?_

To which I responded '_Sure_' and posted it here so that everyone can read and review. Please be sure to do the reviewing part. The authors need to be fed or else they are less inclined to write. And we wouldn't want that now would we.

**Drabbles of Coming Attractions**

"Sela's failure to invade Vulcan was not looked on kindly," said the Traveler: "She was consequently demoted to chief of security...for the Romulan embassy on Nimbus III."

Riker whistled in shock.

"Talk about a fate worse than death!"

The Traveler nodded: "That is precisely how she sees it. Towards that end, she has made an alliance with the Cardassian who calls himself...Gul Dukat!"

"What kind of alliance?" asked Picard, with a slight edge to his voice.

"Through the Obsidian Order, he has obtained-and given to Sela-the Ferengi mind-control device that was once used on you, Captain. This device has allowed her to gain control of a Delta Quadrant life-form called a '_Yautja_,' whose people are a very old hunter/warrior culture. And, with him, she is planning to return to 21st century Earth, via the Guardian of Forever!"

This pronouncement made both Starfleet officers sit bolt upright.

"Are you sure about that?" demanded Riker.

"Quite sure."

"For what purpose?" added Picard, his tone now more of a half-whisper.

"To erase the very existence of the man she holds responsible for her disgrace. She plans to kill Mr. Spock's earliest known ancestor on his mother's side. One Richard Grayson of Gotham City!"

**From BATMAN VS. PREDATOR: THE NEXT GENERATION**

"George?" said the captain: "I finally found someone to be your interim partner while Sykes is on his honeymoon. Sergeant Samuel George Francisco? Meet Detective Kate Lockley."

"How do you do?" the blue-eyed blonde Earth woman rhetorically asked as they shook hands.

"An extinct pleasure to meet you," replied the smiling Newcomer.

"OK, Riley," demanded the vampire: "What've you got for me?"

"Bad news, Angel. This killer creature isn't supernatural. It's from out of this world. Literally!"

"What?"

Riley nodded: "According to my contacts? It was grown from DNA samples sent from outer space...to a top-secret lab in Utah."

**From an "Angel/Species/Alien Nation" crossover (working title: VAMPIRES AND ALIENS). **


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32.**

**SFPD HEADQUARTERS**

**(12:45 A.M./PST)**

Buffy had been alternately running and jogging through the building. Searching every publicly accessible area for any sign of Cordelia. And, if the area was off-limits to civilians? Detective Frank Kohanek would flash his gold shield and ask his co-workers if anyone had seen any young woman answering Cordelia's description. Or, failing that, had they seen a plainclothesman resembling a young David Bowie!

After reaching the fifth floor, with still no sign of success, Buffy suddenly had another massive migraine.

"Buffy?" exclaimed Kohanek: "Buffy! What is it?"

She could not answer. The pain made it impossible to do so, during the vision. When the pain finally stopped, however, she opened her eyes and gasped.

"Are you okay?" Kohanek asked again.

"A lot better than Cordie, at the moment," she replied: "Get me back to the hotel. Quick!"

**SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT HILTON**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I had decided to wait with Angel, Xander, and Willow for Buffy's return to the Presidential Suite. Because, after what I had been told concerning the origins of the Dagon-sphere, the Orb of Thesulah, and the Ferrula Geminiarum, I knew that the thefts of all three couldn't add up to anything good.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the suite's front doors.

"Xan? Wills? Open up!"

"It's Buffy!" exclaimed Willow. And, with a speed I would've deemed impossible for a human girl, she beat me to the doors and threw them open.

"Oh, Thank God, you're safe!" declared the redhead: "Because, you won't believe what we heard from Giles, while you were out."

"I wouldn't bet on it," replied the blonde: "But, go ahead, anyway."

It took another ten or fifteen minutes to explain to her about the stolen talismans. When Xander and Willow had completed the explanation, Buffy grimly nodded.

"That explains the vision I had of Cordie...and what was done to her."

"Vision?" echoed Angel: "What vision?"

Buffy then explained (_much to our slack-jawed astonishment_) that, while Doyle had been dying in Cordelia's arms, he had mystically transferred his precognitive abilities to her. And, when Buffy had likewise hugged Cordelia (_to comfort her_), those abilities were similarly transferred to the former. Without either girl knowing it had happened!

"And, now," concluded Buffy: "It's shown me that Cordelia is now serving as the host body for some hell-bitch goddess calling herself '_Glory_'."

**BRITISH EMBASSY,**

**NICOSIA, CYPRUS**

The circular landing pad, normally used by diplomatic helicopters, was today being utilized by a Harrier jumpjet from the British naval base at Gibraltar. With the dust kicked up by the jet's VTOL engines momentarily blinding Brother Demetrius. As a result, he did not get to see what the aircraft's occupants looked like until he heard himself being addressed.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"I said, '_Are you Brother Demetrius?_' " repeated the jumpjet's pilot.

The Greek monk nodded, now taking a closer scrutiny of the two men before him. The pilot was a black man who spoke his university-taught English (_Oxford, probably_) with a bit of a West African accent (_Ghana or Sierra Leone, perhaps_). While his white co-pilot was clearly American. One whose complexion was unusually pale. In fact, if he did not know better, Brother Demetrius might almost swear...

His ponderings were interrupted.

"My name is Rice. Captain Vaughan Rice; British SAS. This is my colleague, Ensign Sam Lawson; U.S. Naval Intelligence. And, like me, he's currently on loan to the Ministry of Defense/Department V. As in; Code V."

The monk's eyes widened: "Then, I was right. Your companion is...!"

"...currently undergoing gene therapy for his '_condition_'. Which makes him totally trustworthy," asserted Rice: "I guarantee it."

"The Knights of Byzantium, who helped me flee from Crete, might not be so quick to believe you, Captain. Especially when one stops to consider what is at stake! But, the bestowing of blind faith is a part of my calling. So, for the time being, I will take your word for it."

"Splendid! Then, please don this spare jumpsuit and helmet we brought along. Ensign Lawson will take over chauffeuring you to the States. And, don't worry about running out of petrol! A NATO KC-135 tanker plane will refuel you, in-flight."

Ten minutes later, the Harrier was once again airborne.

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

The private detective in me could not help asking for some clarification.

"When you say '_hell-bitch goddess_', you aren't talking metaphorically. Are you?"

Buffy shook her head.

"According to the vision (_and I sensed this info, more than anything else_), Glory is a very old Big Bad. So old, in fact, that most outfits (_like the Watchers_) don't even have that much written down about her! But, the PTB's showed me where we can get that additional 4-1-1 about her."

That's when she turned to me.

"They showed me you talking to your new friend Daedalus on the subject."

So, for the second time, that night, I found myself running through the sewers of San Francisco like a vampiric version of the Flash. And, I have to admit, I was a little nervous. The sight of Daedalus decapitating Lak Nepp (_with his bare hands_!) kept replaying itself through my mind. Over and over and over!

So, Buffy had agreed to phone Julian Luna while I was en route. With a request for him to alert Daedalus that I was making a return trip to the big Nosferatu's digs. And, Julian must have been present to answer the phone. Because, when I arrived at the secret entrance, Daedalus opened it before I could even rap on it with my knuckles to the tune of "Shave And A Haircut."

He listened patiently to everything I told him. And, when I was finished, he steepled the fingers of both hands against his chin.

"The Slayer was right to send you to me," he finally declared: "There are legends, within my clan, concerning a triumvirate of Antediluvians who fled to a parallel-realm, called Aralu, in order to escape the Flood. There, they did jointly rule, for a time. Yet, eventually, one of them tried to overthrow the other two. Tried, but failed! She was subsequently banished back to our world. Her essence imprisoned within a powerless mortal body for all time."

"If there's one thing I learned as a cop," I replied: ". . .it's that no prison is a hundred percent escape-proof."

Daedalus nodded: "Sad, but true. And, in the case of She Who Glories In Herself? I fear she might be seeking to prove that. . .at the expense of Earth, itself."

"What do you mean?"

He didn't answer right away. But, after another half-minute of awkward silence, he finally spoke up (_again_).

"Have you ever heard of a mystical talisman called. . .the Key?"

**tbc**


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33.**

"Kilo Charlie One-Three-Five, to Tango Alpha Victor-Eight Bravo. Do you copy? Over?"

"Copy you, Kilo Charlie. What's up? Over."

"Eight Bravo, please be advised that refueling is complete, and nozzle has been fully extracted. So, we'll be heading back to base, now. Over!"

"Roger that, Kilo Charlie. Have a safe trip! This is Eight Bravo, over and out."

As the tanker plane did a U-turn, back in the direction of Belgium, Sam Lawson reactivated the cockpit intercom within the Harrier.

"So, where were we?"

"You had just been rescued by the Coast Guard," Brother Demetrius reminded him.

"Oh, yeah! Well, I got debriefed by the D.R.I. after we got back to port. And, when I got through with that, they sent me _back_ to Europe, to work with this guy named Nick Knight. Together, we knocked off every Nazi who had anything to do with Hitler's research into the occult. And, after V-J Day, I spent a couple of years bumming around South America, hunting down war criminals."

"Was it this Nick Knight who taught you how to fly?"

Lawson nodded: "Yeah! He'd taken a few lessons from this guy Carrington (_or Barrington or something like that_), who spent the war as a fighter-pilot with the RAF. Anyway, I eventually got tired of Nazi-hunting. So, I eventually moved back to the States, where I became a test pilot for the Navy at Patuxent River, Maryland. Which, in turn, led to my flying spy-planes for Naval Intelligence!"

"Well, I certainly hope you can return to those comparatively mundane duties when this is over, Ensign," Brother Demetrius replied: "Because, if the She-Beast manages to get hold of the Key, the world- - for lack of a better term- - is doomed!"

**PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,**

**S.F. AIRPORT HILTON**

**(2:50 A.M./PST)**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

"Define '_doomed_,' " asked Xander.

I had just returned from Daedalus' place, and told everyone present the legend concerning Glory and the Key. And, how (_according to that legend_) the latter had the power to open up inter-dimensional portals!

"There's only one problem," I added: "It'd be a one-way trip for the Key holder. Because, that same power would quickly incinerate the entire world you were traveling away from!"

"Well, I must admit," declared Willow: "That would be pretty bad, yeah."

"No problemo," replied Xander: "We just find out where this Key is being stored, in the here and now. We send Buffy in to grab it. She gives it to Giles, and he Fedexes it to the Watchers' Council for safe-keeping! Sweetness and light, all around."

Buffy shook her head: "It's not that simple, Xan. Nobody knows what the Key looks like. Except for the monks of St. Ioannes, that is. And, Glory apparently wiped them all out!"

"Not quite all," said a familiar English voice.

"GILES!" chorused all three kids.

"What are you doing here?" exclaimed Buffy, as she ran to hug him.

"Not that we're not glad to see you, G-man," Xander hastily added: "We always are."

"Yes, well..." he began (_with a slight asthmatic wheeze_): "Buffy, could you please let up a moment so I could draw proper breath?"

"Oops! My bad! I guess I still don't know my own strength when it comes to de-stuffing hugs."

"Thank you. Now, in answer to your first question, I'm here because I was contacted by the Precept of London House, himself. He's the only Legacy member to whom the Watchers' Council is totally answerable. And, he told me that not only had a lone survivor of the St. Ioannes massacre been found. But that the latter is also currently en route to the United States with the one magical weapon capable of physically disabling this She-Beast (_as he insists on calling her_)."

"The Dagon-sphere?" commented Angel.

Giles nodded.

"Is he being brought directly here?" I now asked.

Giles shook his head: "He will be dropped off at Logan International Airport, in Boston, Massachusetts, where he will transfer to a Learjet owned by the local Legacy House. He will then be flown here, where he'll be met by the Precept of San Francisco House. A meeting for which you and I will be providing additional security, Buffy."

"Sounds do-able," the Slayer replied: "What are their names?"

"The monk is one Brother Demetrius. While the local precept is someone you will probably find it most ironic to meet: Professor Derek Rayne."

Buffy's eyes widened in shocked recognition: "As in...?"

Giles nodded: "Ethan's estranged older brother."

**tbc **


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34.**

** MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

There was a few seconds of shock and confusion after Giles' statement.

"Ethan Rayne has a brother?" exclaimed Xander.

"And, he's here in San Francisco?" added Willow.

"And, what's this Legacy you keep talking about?" demanded Buffy.

"Oh, botheration!" replied Giles: "That's right. I never told you. But, then again; we became so preoccupied with trying to prevent Wilkins' Ascension, it's quite understandable that it might slip my mind."

"And, what _is_ '_it_,' exactly?"

Buffy emphasized that second question by sternly criss-crossing her arms. In apparent response to which, Giles removed his glasses and began nervously polishing the lenses.

"It- -uhm!- - involves your Cruciamentum. Had that gone as Travers originally planned, he would have finally authorized me to tell you the full history of the Watchers. Including their originally being created as an intelligence-gathering arm of the Legacy. A secret society reputedly founded, in post-Arthurian Britain, by the erstwhile Sir Lancelot (_following his ordination as a Catholic priest_) and the Druidess Ganieda. Biological sister of Merlin, himself!"

Xander said it best for all of us.

"Whoa!"

Giles nodded, as he put his glasses back on: "Quite! In any event, the Legacy is divided into regional chapters called Houses. Each one of which is headed by a precept. Derek Rayne is the Precept of San Francisco House. And, the Luna Foundation is a fund-raising front for their primary mission: the collection, confiscation, and storage away, of powerful mystic talismans that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Especially, if those hands belong to Ethan Rayne (who is self-disowned from the rest of his family)!"

**MEANWHILE, AT SFPD HEADQUARTERS...**

Frank Kohanek answered the vibrational buzzing of his cellphone. He read the caller-ID. Then, he hit the "_on_" button.

"Yeah, Sonny."

"What've you got for me concerning Ethan Rayne?"

"Well, on paper, he's legit. Works for a Market Street outfit called TJN Investments. But, according to Interpol, he's got quite a rap sheet at Scotland Yard. Mostly, as a con artist! No convictions, though. Now, what can you tell me about this guy Spike?"

"He's one of Angel's grandchildren," replied Sonny Toussaint: "...by a seeress called Drusilla. And, he likes to sport a Billy Idol/David Bowie look. In fact, that alias _'John Blalock'_ was the name of Bowie's character in THE HUNGER! That vampire-movie with Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve?"

"Figures!" muttered Kohanek: "You think he and Rayne might be working together?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Want to help me roust him?"

"I'd love to."

Whereupon, Frank gave his vampiric partner the Lombard Street address of the so-called "_investment counselor._"

**MEANWHILE, ABOARD THE S.S. VLODNIK. . .**

"Well?" Ben Wilkinson called out, over his left shoulder.

"All right! Come on back in."

He obediently re-entered the infirmary. Whereupon, he came to an abrupt stand-still.

"You like?" inquired the brunette formerly known as Cordelia Chase.

She twirled three hundred and sixty degrees. Showing off a bra with silver sequins, a translucent blue skirt, and a tiara studded with pearls. An ensemble that made her resemble an "_Arabian Nights_" version of Rogers and Hammerstein's "_Cinderella_." And, in a way that could prompt no other response from the average mortal male except. . . a wolf-whistle.

"I'll take that as a '_yes_.' "

Before Ben could utter any kind of verbal remark, Captain Skorzeny activated the intercom from the bridge.

"You're Gloriousness! Forgive the interruption. But, the Ropen has arrived from New Guinea."

"About time!" exclaimed Glory: "You! Get my cloak."

She pointed to Ben, who promptly draped a black velvet cape over her shoulders. Tying the drawstrings together just below her throat. Then, bowing the right of way to her, he followed her up on deck, to the aft end of the ship. There, draped across the stern, from the port side to the starboard (_in a way that slightly up-ended the ship's bow_), was the head and upper neck of a dragon!

Glory promptly climbed atop that neck, just behind its horn-like ears. Instantly conjuring, in Ben's mind, an image of the Wicked Witch of the West mounted on a show-jumping horse.

"Sorry, boys! But, there's only room for me. Have fun on this tub. Because, I'm out of here!"

Whereupon, the dragon spread its scaly wings and flapped them, profusely, before finally getting airborne...and heading eastward.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35.**

Brother Demetrius noticed that it was getting considerably brighter within the cockpit. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the sun was beginning to rise behind them. So, he notified Sam Lawson to that effect.

"Do you think you will be able to land at our destination before the first rays of light overtake us?" he added.

"Nothing to worry about, padre," replied the vam-pilot: "Not once I've taken my Vitamin D cocktail."

Whereupon, he activated the automatic pilot so he could withdraw a silver brandy flask...and swig from it.

"Ahhhhhhh!" he sighed.

"Is th-that...human blood?!" Brother Demetrius stammered.

"Nahhhhhh! It's sheep's blood, mixed with cod-liver oil and calaguala fern-leaf tea. A Brazilian witch doctor recommended it to me. I don't know how it works, exactly. Or, even if he's the one who invented it! But, it gives Caitiff like me..."

Another momentary swig.

"...the limited solar tolerance of much-older childer."

Sam then re-sealed the flask and put it away.

"How much longer till we reach the airport?" Brother Demetrius now asked.

"We'll were approaching Cape Ann, now. So, at our present airspeed, we should be arriving at Logan about ten to twenty minutes after that."

**MEANWHILE, THREE TIME ZONES EARLIER...**

According to the San Francisco branch of the California DMV, Ethan Rayne lived in a second floor apartment at 1235 Montclair Terrace. The latter was a cul-de-sac on the northward-facing side of Lombard Street's world-famous switchback segment. Sonny Toussaint parked his car at the Hyde Street intersection and walked upward. Simultaneously, Frank Kohanek walked downward from his parking spot on Leavenworth Street. Together, they walked up towards their target: the last two-story house on the right-hand side of the dead end.

"Man!" whispered Frank: "Can't you even _pretend_ to breath hard?"

Sonny's answering grin was positively shameless: "Sorry! I'm out of practice. You got the warrant?"

Frank nodded: "Signed by a night court judge whose good poker-buddies with Julian."

"Then that's all the invitation we need."

Whereupon, Frank started pounding on the front door (and shouting "Police!" at the top of his lungs), while his vampirized partner went around to the back. A minute later, Frank started shouting again.

"Ethan Rayne! This is the SFPD. Open up! We have a warrant for your arrest."

As anticipated, the expatriate Englishman tried to make a break for it through the rear entrance. And, Sonny was waiting for him.

"Going somewhere, Rayne?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. And, I haven't time to dally. So..."

To Sonny's utter amazement, Ethan Rayne's face adopted the features normally seen on those sired by the Aurelian Order!

Unfortunately, this state of mind delayed him long enough for Ethan to mutter something that sounded vaguely Latin. Following which, Sonny went sailing across the back yard like he had been hit by a giant invisible hand! The garbage cans he landed among naturally attracted Frank's attention. And, as he came running around the upper right-hand corner of the house, he collided with Ethan's out-stretched right arm.

A technique known in professional wrestling as getting '_clothes-lined_'.

"Ta-ta, officer!" the vampirized sorcerer mockingly called out, as he ran off into the waning night.

**LOGAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT,**

**BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS**

"Tower? This is Tango Alpha Victor-Eight Bravo. Do you copy? Over?"

"Tower to Eight Bravo. We copy you. Over."

"Tower, have you been notified about the special nature of my passenger? Over?"

"Roger that, Eight Bravo. You are cleared to land at Runway 110. Over."

"Thank you, Tower. This is Eight Bravo. Over and out."

As soon as the control tower had similarly signed off, Sam Lawson once more deactivated the auto-pilot.

"So, we will not have to go through customs?" asked the mystified Greek monk.

Sam smilingly shook his head: "Nope! As far as they're concerned, you're the proud owner of a rare blood type. One badly needed by a certain little girl, in San Francisco, whose organ-donor transplant has been funded by the Luna Foundation. Which is why the latter have used their W.H.O. contacts to give you diplomatic status."

Five minutes later, Brother Demetrius disembarked from the jump-jet and into an ambulance idling ten feet away. Five minutes after that, he was in a private hangar, where he climbed aboard an awaiting Learjet.

Meanwhile, back at the San Francisco Airport Hilton, Buffy, Giles, Xander, and Willow were getting some much needed sleep. With Buffy and Willow sharing the queen-size bed in the master bedroom, while the men-folk got one each of the guest-rooms. Angel and Mick St. John had already left, after the latter had received a cellphone call from Sonny Toussaint. Something about Ethan Rayne proving slippier than anticipated.

Suddenly, Buffy sat bolt upright in bed, screaming at the top of her lungs!

Xander and Giles ran into the master bedroom within moments, to see Willow frantically trying to half-restrain/half-calm the Slayer down with a bear hug.

"A little- - -help- - - here- - -guys?" she pleaded, between struggles.

It was not easy, even with Giles and Xander's combined strength. But, finally, they managed to pin Buffy to the mattress. Even though, she was still convulsing.

"Must- - -warn- - -them," she intoned (with her eyes almost rolling up into her head): "Before- - -they- - -take off."

"Warn who?" Giles urgently whispered: "You mean, the Legacy people in Boston? Warn them of what, Buffy?"

"She's- - -coming- - - for him. The one- - -who holds- - -the Key!"

" '_She_?' " echoed Xander: "You mean. . .?"

"Glordelia!" exclaimed Buffy: "Glordelia- - - is personally- - -coming- - -to intercept- - -the Key!"

Then, she fainted from the pain. They listened to her breathing return to a normal rate. Then, Willow looked at the two men.

"Did I hear right? Did she pronounce it 'Glordelia?' "

"Good Lord!" Giles muttered to himself.

Xander nodded: "Just a delirious mispronunciation, you think?"

Giles started polishing his glasses: "I only wish to God it were."

tbc


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36.**

**PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,**

**S.F. AIRPORT HILTON**

**(3:10 A.M./PST)**

"The Ferrula Geminiarum can serve one of two functions," continued Giles: "It can split a person into his or her stronger and weaker aspects (_their positive and negative halves if you will_). . ."

"Oh!" exclaimed Willow: "Like when Jim Kirk got Jekyll-and-Hyded by the transporter beam, on the original STAR TREK."

"Uhm, yes. . .sort of," agreed Giles: "Or, it can fuse those two aspects back together. And, in Glory's case, I greatly fear it was used for both purposes. If so, Cordelia is more than possessed. She has been forcibly _merged_ with Glory! With the latter mentally dominant."

"Is there any to fix that?" Xander now asked: "I mean; even Cordie doesn't deserve a fate like that!"

"That would first require determining the Ferrula Geminiarum's location," declared Giles: "And, I can think of only one way to do that. Directed viewing! But, that will entail putting Buffy. . .under hypnosis."

Meanwhile, at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, a certain radar operator activated his microphonic headset and contacted his shift supervisor.

"Sharkey, here," replied the chief petty officer.

"Chief? This is Kowalski. I've got a bogie on my screen. Heading due eastward. . .straight toward us!"

"Did you try raising it on the radio?"

"Aye-aye, Chief. But, there was no response!"

"I'll be right over."

Chief Sharkey was as good as his word. A minute later, he was literally looking over Seaman Kowalski's right shoulder. "Try to raise it, again," the former ordered. And the latter nodded.

"This is NAS Pearl Harbor to unidentified aircraft. We have you on our radar screen, heading towards restricted military airspace. Please identify yourself and your flight plan. Over?"

They waited a full sixty seconds, before Chief Sharkey ordered a third try. And, still there was no response! So, the CPO told Seaman Kowalski to keep trying, before striding over to a wall-mounted telephone with what looked like a blank rotary dial on it.

"This is Sharkey. Get me the Officer-of-the-Watch."

The Legacy Learjet had been heading roughly southwestward, before veering due west over Pennsylvania (_somewhere between Erie and Pittsburgh_). When the pilot had duly notified his passengers of this, the blonde woman sitting next to him smiled maternally at how nervously the Greek monk was praying.

"Don't worry, Brother Demetrius. At our current speed, we'll be reaching the Mississippi River before you know it. Then, it's figuratively all downhill from there!"

Brother Demetrius smiled back, and nodded in apparent understanding. But, in fact, it was not generic fear of flying that was making him pray. He was actually praying that the real courier of the Dagon-sphere would safely make it to San Francisco!

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

When Angel and I showed up at his Nob Hill mansion, Cash of the Gangrel Clan escorted straight into Julian Luna's private study. There, we found him mulling over what Sonny Toussaint and Frank Kohanek had just told him.

"You're sure he was Kiasyd?"

"Oh, yeah!" Sonny exclaimed: "There's no mistaking those unglamourized facial features!"

"Okay," said Kohanek: "I'll bite (_no pun intended_). What's a Kiasyd?"

"A bloodline of Clan LaSombra," broke in Angel: "Co-founders of the Sabbat. A changeling (_or half-mortal fae_) was supposedly Embraced by a Kindred of that clan. And, all vampires sired by him- -or one of his childer- -since then, have the power to disguise themselves as anyone they want via magical glamour. Not so much actual shape shifting as perception distortion!"

"At the risk of belaboring the obvious?" I said: "If you've got a Kiasyd loose in your city, that can mean only one thing."

Prince Julian nodded: "A possible Sabbat incursion."

"There's only one way to find out for sure," Sonny replied: "Capture this Ethan Rayne, so me and Daedalus can. . .question him."

Kohanek shook his head: "Easier said than done. This guy was a con artist _long_ before his Embrace. So, he's probably got a dozen different bolt holes, under just as many aliases, at least!"

Angel snapped his fingers: "Why don't we go to TJN Investments and find out from his office computer? I know a guy from Sunnydale who's a whiz at websurfing!"

Twenty minutes later, Angel was introducing us to Daniel Osbourne. Better known to his friends as "Oz." And, Prince Julian gave him a most cordial smile.

"So you're the Garou who was so helpful to us at the Haven, earlier tonight."

Oz modestly shrugged and nodded.

"If you need to be technical," he added: "I'm a galliard of the Glass Walker tribe. But, of mixed Fenrir and Fianna descent. At least, that's what I've been told by the Garou who's been tutoring me on how to more actively control my shapeshifting!"

"And, do you really know your way around cyberspace as well as you do the strings of a guitar?"

"Why?" Oz countered: "What do you have in mind?"

So, Prince Julian told him. And, Oz grinned.

"Like William Tell told his son after putting the apple on his head; '_I'll give it my best shot_.'"

Angel winced. "You've been hanging around Xander too long."

** MEANWHILE, BACK AT PEARL HARBOR. . .**

Captain Derek Crane carefully listened to Chief Sharkey's oral report, as it had been relayed to him by the Officer-of-the-Watch; Lieutenant (_junior grade_) Eugene Morton.

"And, there's been no response to any of the hails?"

"None, sir. And, the bogie is now a hundred miles closer to Pearl."

"Very well. Launch a couple of Tomcats to intercept. But, unless the bogie proves hostile without provocation, they are to recon only! Is that understood?"

"Aye-aye, sir!"

Five minutes later, two RF-14's took off. . .heading due westward.

**TJN INVESTMENTS,**

**MARKET STREET,**

**(4:00 A.M./PST)**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

It didn't take us long to hot-foot it, through the sewers, to Ethan Rayne's place of business. Even Oz (in Krinos form) managed to keep up a steady, two-legged pace! But, the real difficulty was in getting through the file walls of Rayne's desk top personal computer.

"He must have had top professionals install this," Oz remarked: "Color me grudgingly impressed!"

"Does this mean you _can't_ hack his system?" demanded Angel.

"Bite your tongue! It'll just take some unanticipated extra effort. That's all!"

Oz was as good as his word. Thirty minutes later, he gave out with a muted yell of triumph.

"Bingo!"

"What've you got?" I asked.

"I have a feeling he's hiding out in a time-share condo complex, just north of Sausalito. The one supposedly owned by his boss, to be exact."

"Supposedly?" echoed Sonny.

Oz grinned: "It's leased to a Thomas Jerome Newton. And, wasn't that the name of the space alien David Bowie played, in THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH?"

I now grinned, myself: "At least this guy's consistent."

**tbc**


	37. Chapter 37

**Different City / Same Old Crap**

**By Carycomic**

**Chapter 37.**

**LONDON HOUSE,**

**1 NOVEMBER, 1938**

Dr. Jonathan Silence, Precept of the Legacy's Ruling House, was positively aghast at what he had just been told by Jethro Dumont ("the Green Lama" of the Akashic Brotherhood) concerning the nation-wide panic caused by the Mercury Theater adaptation of H.G. Wells THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.

"How on Earth could such a thing happen?"

The Green Lama shrugged his astral shoulders.

"For lack of a better term? A gestalt effect. The intense concentration by so many people, tuning in late, triggered a collective subconscious recollection of the 1898 invasion. Leading to spontaneous generation of tulpas of the Martian tripods."

Dr. Silence sat back in his swivel chair.

"Good Lord!"

"It gets worse," continued the Green Lama: "A segment of the vampiric population took advantage of the chaos by attacking stragglers among the fleeing refugees. Resulting in counter-attacks by various local Garou septs. Unfortunately, the usual _'frenzy effect'_ hasn't taken hold. More people are remembering than not! Which means. . ."

"Don't say it!" snapped the Ruling Precept (to no avail).

". . .we may have to repeat what we did, forty years ago."

Dr. Silence sprang to his feet.

"Out of the question! It took a whole year to carefully orchestrate that one. And, another year for all the participants to regain their previous power levels!"

The Green Lama nodded: "I'm well aware of that. But, the bad news; we've no other choice in the matter. Not without violating our end of the Van Helsing Initiative. The good news is; we're not talking about a second case of global amnesia. Just a smaller version, confined strictly to America's borders. So, all that would require is an enjoining of the American Legacy Houses. With your permission, of course!"

There were some very tense moments while Dr. Silence pondered this weighty decision. Supporting himself by bracing both arms atop his desk. Finally, he sighed and nodded.

"Permission- - reluctantly- -granted."

**HAWAIIAN ISLANDS,**

**LATE SPRING (1999)**

"Romeo Foxtrot Leader to Base. Do you copy? Over?"

"Base to Romeo Foxtrot Leader. We copy you; over."

"Base? Romeo Foxtrot Bravo and I are approaching last confirmed co-ordinates. But, so far, we have no visual sighting of the bogie. Is it still on your radar? Over."

"Negative, Romeo Foxtrot Leader. The bogie went to sea level, just before you contacted us, and our screens haven't been able to pick it up since. Over."

"Roger that, Base. What do you advise we do? Over?"

There was a pause of a minute or two before the control tower at NAS Pearl Harbor responded.

"Base to Romeo Foxtrot Leader. Yourself and Bravo are advised to sweep the area for five minutes more. If you do not sight the bogie in that time frame, the two of you can return to base. Do you copy? Over."

"Copy that, Base. This is Romeo Foxtrot Leader; over and out."

The two reconnaissance fighter jets followed the "_advice_" they had been given. And, when the five minutes had elapsed, with still no sign of the bogie, they turned their planes around and headed home. They had only been on the return leg of the trip for ten minutes, however, when the pilot of the second Tomcat suddenly radioed the first.

"Bravo to Leader! Bravo to Leader! Take a gander at your one o' clock; PDQ!"

The pilot of the first Tomcat took that look. And, his reaction was both immediate and unequivocal.

"Holy Shit Molasses!"

To his right, and approximately four hundred feet below, was what looked like a dragon, straight out of a child's book of fairy tales. A winged, bluish-green dragon. . .that looked like it was being ridden!

"Leader to Bravo! Leader to Bravo! Follow me down, and look after our six while we start rolling. Over."

"Roger that."

Whereupon, the two jet aircraft began their descent. The photographer's mate in the backseat of Romeo Foxtrot Leader activating the digital video camera in the nose of their plane. With his counterpart in the second plane doing likewise . And, all this, while the pilots of both planes activated their weapons systems. The live video footage that was wirelessy transmitted back to NAS Pearl Harbor went uninterrupted for about seven minutes.

After which, even the self-involved "Glordelia" could not fail to notice she had unwanted company.

"Come on, Ropen. Let's show these jokers the price for stalking me."

Whereupon, the dragon did a one hundred-eighty degree turn that, by all rights, should have dislodged the young woman via the inherent G-forces of it. But, Glordelia not only remained seated on the Ropen's neck. She also whooped in shameless, child-like joy over it!

"Whee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-! Ride 'em, cowgirl!"

The two Tomcat pilots did not remain dumbfounded for long.

"Bravo to Leader! She's coming right for us!"

"Roger that, Bravo. Open fire!"

The built-in machine guns, port and starboard of their nose cameras, instantly began chattering away. But, the phosphorescent "tracer" bullets seemed to have no effect on either dragon or rider. Other than making the latter lose what little temper she had left!

"Give 'em better than they give, Ropen!"

Whereupon, a large ribbon of flame streamed forth from the dragon's mouth. Inexorably making its way toward Romeo Foxtrot Leader.

"Bravo to Leader. Pull up! Pull up! PULL UP!"

Yet, the pilot of the first Tomcat either could not- -or would not- -comply. As a result, his plane was hit, head on, by the stream of flame. Which, in turn, heated the jet's fuel to the point of combustibility, almost instantly.

Neither the pilot nor the photographer's mate got to eject in time. And, the pilot of Romeo Foxtrot Bravo could only stare in open-mouthed shock, at the thunderous fireball that ensued, for the first five seconds. But, then, he regained his senses. Following which, he began evasive action. Twisting and turning his jet aircraft until he finally managed to wind up directly behind the Ropen!

"EAT HEAT-SEEKER, YOU BITCH!"

He fired the aforementioned missiles, one from each wing, with one click of a red button. And, it was now the turn of the duo they were speeding toward to try and evade. Something Glordelia and the Ropen managed to do for about two or three minutes. Ultimately, however, the Ropen simply did another one-eighty. . .and breathed a second stream of flame.

This one passed directly between the two missiles. And, being heat-seekers, they each slightly changed course. Consequently colliding with each other, and exploding in mid-air! And, the pilot of Romeo Foxtrot Bravo would have cursed even more colorfully, at that moment, than his late squadron leader would have, if not for one thing.

The cockpit canopy of his Tomcat was suddenly ripped off its hinges by Glordelia!

"This was fun, boys. But, play time's over. Give my regards to the sharks!"

Both the second pilot and the remaining photographer's mate screamed as she lifted them out of the cockpit (by the collars of their flightsuits), . . .and then dropped them over the side. Following which, the Ropen did one final one-eighty. So that he was close enough, to the ever-descending Tomcat, for Glory to use her short-range teleportation to reboard him.

"Now, where were we before that rude interruption? Oh, yeah. CALIFORNIA, HERE I COME!"

Twenty minutes afterward, a DVD of the strange-yet-tragic dogfight was brought to the commanding admiral of NAS Pearl Harbor. He watched the whole thing in grim silence. And, when the disc was removed from his digital video player, he muttered only four words.

"Get me the Initiative."

**tbc**

**MINI-APPENDIX**

**Dr. John Silence:** occult detective created by Algernon Blackwood, for a collection of short stories, circa 1908.

**The Green Lama:** American master of Tibetan Buddhist mysticism, who fought crime on both radio and in pulp magazines (before transferring to comic books) in the 1940's.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

**SAUSALITO, CALIFORNIA**

**(5:45 A.M./PST)**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

It took a little while to arrange proper transport for the four of us to Marin County. And, when I say "proper," I mean totally sunless! It was Sonny Toussaint's idea was to call his partner, Frank Kohanek, and arrange for him to "pre-emptively borrow" (as Xander might put it) the rental van used by the Hopping Ghosts during their invasion of the Haven, earlier that night.

He arrived at the office building that housed TJN Investments, around 4:30. He then helped Angel, me, and Sonny into the rear compartment before relaying the keys to Oz (who had a class 2 license for driving his band's Chevy van).

"I can lose the paperwork on this for twenty-four hours," he reminded us: "That's it. In the meantime, I'll take the nearest BART train back to headquarters.* Good luck, guys!"

An hour and a quarter later, we had arrived at Anthea Estates. Named, of course, after Thomas Jerome Newton's homeworld in THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH!

"And I thought Spike's fixation with Billy Idol was bad," muttered Angel.

I grinned for a moment. Then, I asked Oz what the number of "Newton's" condo unit was.

"642. And, for your sakes, we better get a move on. Sunrise ain't that far ahead!"

The rest of us nodded as one. Then, we followed along behind him until we got to the door we were looking for. At which point, Oz went up to it and. . . "unlocked" it. With all the experience of someone whose lead guitarist was incessantly locking his ignition keys in the van, after one too many "medicinal" joints.

"Would you gentlemen like to help me search the premises?" he rhetorically asked.

We did not need to be invited twice.

**MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE OVER THE GREAT PLAINS. . .**

Kristin Adams of Boston House looked once again, at her fellow passenger.

"Brother Demetrius, could I ask you a question about the Key?"

The Greek monk tilted his head in curiosity, and nodded.

"What does it look like?"

The sole survivor of the St. Ioannes massacre put his chin in the palm of his right hand (_a la "Rodin's Thinker_"), for a few seconds before replying.

"It has no form as you and I know the word. Yet, neither is it a spirit, in the sense of someone having vacated their physical body following clinical death. I suppose the best description I could give of it would be as a. . . _'sentient primordial energy-being_.' "

Kristin's eyes arched wider than an anime character.

"And, this energy-being can really destroy the whole world just from opening an interdimensional portal?"

"Yes and no. The destruction comes not from the act of opening _one_ portal. But, a whole myriad of them, simultaneously!"

"Oh- - -My- - -God," was all Kristin could utter in reply.

Brother Demetrius nodded: "Precisely."

There was a moment or two of stunned silence before Kristin could summon the nerve to ask another question.

"Is there any way to use that energy to send the Key, itself, to someplace this Glory can never lay hands on it?"

Brother Demetrius shook his head.

"The best that can be done," he added: ". . .is to dampen it's energy, somewhat. By giving it corporeal form!"

**MEANWHILE, BACK IN SAUSALITO. . .**

**(MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.)**

We hurriedly drew the shades down on all the windows. Not only to screen our activities inside, from early bird neighbors. But, also, to keep out the light of the ever-rising sun. Because, like I said before, my inherent solar tolerance is limited.

We then searched the condo unit from top to bottom. Looking for any clue as to where else Ethan Rayne might be hiding out. It was Oz, though, who lucked out. He was searching the master bedroom, in his Glabro form, so as to sniff around like a wolf while still being able to talk like a normal human. And, he called out to us that he might have something. So, naturally, we rushed to join him as only vampires can rush!

He pointed to the closet.

"I'm detecting a faint breeze at floor level. And, not the forced hot air of the ventilation system. This is a cool breeze. . .coming from outside,"

So, I opened the closet door and started handing out hangar loads of clothes to the others. Sort of a haute coture version of a bucket brigade! Anyway, the closet was soon empty. So, I stepped out of the way and let Oz have the honor of snooping around. A wise decision, as it turned out. Because, it took him only thirty seconds to find a trap door!

"I'll go down, first," said Angel: "Followed by Oz. After all, we've had more run-ins with him."

Sonny and I nodded. Five minutes later, all four of us were walking along a hallway with lead-lined walls.

"Looks like a fall-out shelter," I whispered: "Left over from the early days of the Cold War,"

"Ding-ding-ding-ding!" came a near-deafening shout (in parody of a game show bell): "You are absolutely correct, sir! And, by the way? No need to murmur like little tykes in church. Between the acoustics of that corridor, and my own recent enhancements, I can hear you just fine!"

We looked at each other, in frustration, but gave up all pretense of stealth, just the same. Consequently, we rushed the rest of the way down the hallway. What we found waiting for us in the big room at the end of it, though, made us skid to a collective halt. Primarily, because Ethan Rayne was not alone!

Standing to his right, with her left arm draped across his shoulders, was a raven-haired brunette who looked like a cross between Angelina Jolie and Morticia Addams. While to his left stood a guy in a flowing black cape who could have been her brother (_right down to the long dark hair_).

"Hello, Angelus. Welcome to my digs. I believe you know my significant other, here!"

"Drusilla?" Angel gasped

"Hello, Daddy."

"And, this stately gentleman, t'other side of me?" continued Ethan: "Well, he can speak for himself,"

The latter smiled and nodded: "I. . .am Dracula."

**tbc**


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39.**

**ANTHEA ESTATES,**

**SAUSALITO, CALIFORNIA**

**(MICK ST. JOHN' S P.O.V.) **

For a few seconds, we just stood there in silence. A silence that was finally broken (oddly enough) by Oz.

"Heh!" he snorted (in complete disbelief): "Yeah, right. And, I'm Larry Talbot!"

"He's not joking, Oz," replied Angel: "That really is Dracula."

Sonny looked at him, his eyes fairly bulging: "Are you shittin' me?"

Angel shook his head: "I met him at the Hollywood premiere of the Universal film adaptation, in 1931! I was afraid he might get unduly offended by Bela Lugosi's portrayal of him, and try to suck him dry."

"Not that you could have prevented it, Angelus," declared the real Dracula: "Even before your ensoulment! But, fortunately, for all concerned, Mr. Lugosi's depiction of me was as superb on screen as it had been in the original stage play."

"That still doesn't explain what he's doing here," observed Oz: "Or, why's he working with Ethan. Or, how Ethan even became a frigging vampire in the first place!"

I looked at the one called Drusilla.

"You Embraced him. Didn't you?"

Her only response was to grin and give Rayne a peck on the cheek. With the latter bragging how she had foreseen the two of them getting together!

"The chaos-demon she dumped Spike for is an old friend of mine. And, when I heard the two of them were in Brazil (where I was temporarily hiding out after my Halloween reunion with good old Ripper, almost two years ago), I decided to look them up and offer my congratulations!"

"It's when I shook his hand," added Drusilla: ". . .that I saw what Fate had in store for us, Daddy."

Kristin Adams shook her head, incredulously.

"Is such a feat even possible?"

"Oh, yes!" Brother Demetrius nodded: "Provided one is willing to use. . .the augmentation spell."

Kristin gasped. "Are you serious? Surely, you know the side-effect of that better than I do!"

"That side-effect can be avoided," he countered: ". . .if the mystical energy generated is evenly distributed through multiple spellcasters. My brethren and I were at work on just that thing. In fact, we would have accomplished it, in another three or four months! But, the She-Beast caught us unprepared. So, now, I am obliged to enact the contingency plan."

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

"And, what might that be, Dru?" Angel demanded: "What does Fate have in store for you?"

"I don't think she was only referring to herself and these two," I said: "I think she was speaking of the world as a whole! Humans and vampires, alike."

"That is correct, Mr. St. John," replied Dracula: "When Drusilla shook hands with Mr. Rayne, she foresaw the return of the She-Beast, Glorificus. And, the destruction of the world, at her hands, if she gets hold of the Key! That is why she vampiricized him. His mystical prowess (which has now been enhanced) will be extremely vital to thwarting her in the very near-future."

"If that's the case," snapped Angel: ". . .why did he kidnap Cordie? And, why's he been running all over Frisco, causing all kinds of trouble, posing as a Kiasyd?"

Dracula explained how he knew Rupert Giles and his friends would never believe Rayne's story about wishing to help stop Glory. Not unless someone could verify it. Someone like Dracula, himself, who still lived by his own peculiar code of honor. Including not telling lies while holding on to a holy relic (even if that relic could and did burn his hand)!

"Thus, Drusilla brought him to me. And, upon confirming her story through tasting a portion of her vitae, I gave a portion of my own vitae to him. So, he could better combine his own magical powers with my Tzimicean thaumaturgy. And, thereby, better instigate the blood hunt against you that would bring you to San Francisco. Where he could more successfully draw your attention and ultimately lure you here!"

"A tad Machiavellian, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. Yet, necessary."

"And, why's that?" I now asked.

"There is a Celestial Chorister en route to San Francisco, even as we speak," said Dracula: "With him are two sheets of very old vellum. On one is the incantation for creating an artificial hive mind known as the enjoining. On the other is an incantation for altering reality. . .known as an augmentation spell."

I couldn't decide whether or not to believe what Dracula was saying. From the expression on his face, though, Angel most likely did. And, Dracula must have spotted it, too. Because, he grinned as he continued: "And, as your Sunnydale paramour will be serving this man, as bodyguard, I will need your help to steal them from him!"

"What contingency plan?" asked the blonde Bostonian.

"In the event we proved unable to read either the enjoining spell or the augmentation spell," replied Brother Demetrius: ". . .my brethren decided that a smaller group of white magic practioners should cast them for us. Practioners who could compensate for their lack of quantity with a strong source of power. Namely; the Dagon-sphere."

Once more, Kristin gasped: "You mean. . .?"

The Greek monk nodded: "I do not have the sphere with me. My brethren gave it to an old ally for safe-keeping. You may have heard of him; the Green Lama?"

"The Green Lama?" echoed Kristin: "Of course, I've heard of him. But, nobody in the Legacy's heard _from_ him since the Fifties!"

"He is still quite active within the Akashic Brotherhood, I assure you. And, if he senses anything happening to me, he will see to it that the Dagon-sphere gets into the proper hands."

**tbc **


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40.**

**PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,**

**S.F. AIRPORT HILTON,**

**SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.**

**(6:00 A.M./PST)**

It took the remainder of the night to set things up.

First, they had to wait for Buffy to regain consciousness as she had fainted following this latest precognitive episode. And, as she had no memory of what she had said (_unlike the preceding episodes_), Giles, Willow, and Xander had to update her. By the time they were done doing that, the first slivers of sunrise were beginning to show along the distant horizon, visible through the windows of the suite's eastward-facing side.

So, to help replenish all their strengths for what lie ahead, Giles called down to room service for two orders of breakfast-for-two. Plus, two extra thermo-plastic pots of coffee! And, when they had all completely fortified themselves, Giles began rummaging through one of his suitcases for the right paraphernalia.

"Alright," he finally remarked: "We're as ready as we'll ever be. Buffy? Would you be so kind as to wash down this capsule?"

She nodded, putting the aforementioned capsule between her lips before swigging liberally from a glass of orange juice. The former resembled the stereotypical hay fever-relief capsule readily available, as an over-the-counter remedy, in most any pharmacy. Yet, in this particular case, it contained freeze-dried sodium pentothal!

Consequently, Buffy soon found herself growing light-headed.

"Now, Buffy, I want you to gaze at this pretty blue crystal I'm holding before your eyes. I know you're feeling sleepy. But, you are finding yourself unable to close them because of this pretty blue crystal. It's so pretty, you literally cannot take your eyes off it! You just want to gaze into its depths. Deeper. . .and deeper. . .and deeper still. Until you see precisely what it is you're looking for. A wooden rod tipped with brass knobs. The Ferrula Geminiarum! Do you see it, Buffy?"

"Yes," she answered, haltingly: "Yes. . .I do. It's. . .aboard. . .a ship. . .at sea. A ship. . .called. . ._'The Vlodnik_.'"

"Precisely, where aboard, Buffy? What part of the ship is it being stored in?"

"The. . .sickbay. Along. . .side. . .the Orb. . .of. . .Thesulah. . .containing. . .Cordie's. . .essence."

Willow almost gasped out loud, at that utterance. Fortunately, though, Xander was able to think quickly enough to hand-gag her! Prompting an appreciative nod from Giles. For, while he could empathize with Willow's shocked reaction, it was still vital to maintain surrounding silence for this directed viewing.

"So, the Ferrula Geminiarum is not with '_Glordelia_,' herself?"

"No. She. . .is too. . .concerned. . .about. . .intercepting. . .the plane. . .with Brother Demetrius. . .aboard."

"Because, he has the Dagon-sphere?"

"Yes. . .and no. Everyone. . .thinks. . .he has. . .the sphere. But, that. . .isn't. . .true. He's. . .partly. . .acting. . .as a. . .decoy. . .for. . .the real. . .messenger."

This time Giles almost did gasp out loud.

"Are you saying that the man currently aboard the Legacy's Learjet is coming here, empty-handed?!"

"Not. . .completely," Buffy replied: "He bears. . .two pieces. . .of vellum. . .vital. . .to. . .materializing. . .the Key. An. . .augmentation. . .spell. . .and. . .an enjoining. . .spell."

Giles decided to end the directed viewing session right there, so he could mull over what he had just learned.

"Very well, Buffy. You may close your eyes and lie back down, now."

Willow and Xander remained quiet for a few moments. Not sure whether they should start speaking again, until Giles began polishing his glasses. A tell-tale sign of nervous contemplation on his part!

"What's wrong, Giles?" asked Willow as softly as possible, in deference to Buffy.

"That last item of information," replied the seasoned Watcher: "It's very unsettling. You see, the augmentation spell can alter reality, as we know it. Especially, if cast by only one mage. For, in that instance, it makes everyone else see the spellcaster as the living embodiment of their most idealized role model! But, at a heavy price. Namely; all the spellcaster's negative attributes also coming to life. . .as a monstrous entity bent on the spellcaster's destruction! What Xander might call _'inner beast balancing outer beauty_.'"

"Whoa!" exclaimed Xander: "I really have a way with words."

"What about that second spell?" asked Willow, pointedly ignoring Xander: "This enjoining. Does it somehow counteract the first one?"

"Only if recited beforehand," said Giles: "Which is the only possibility that makes sense to me. Yet, even casting _that_ spell has its drawbacks! Compared to the destruction of the world, however, the monks of St. Ioannes probably considered it the lesser of two risks."

"What time is that Learjet supposed to arrive?" Xander now asked once more serious.

Giles consulted his wrist watch.

"About a quarter to nine, this morning, our time."

"And, that Greek monk aboard it is only partly acting as a decoy," muttered Willow, repeating a salient point mentioned by Buffy: "That means, someone else is going to be delivering the Dagon-sphere. I wonder who he is. . .and where?"

**BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS  
(SEPTEMBER 14, 1940)  
**  
Dr. Philip Strange, Precept of Boston House, made the introductions.

"Sir Roger Wyndham-Pryce of the _'Defense Research Institute_?' Meet Jethro Dumont; personal liaison between the Legacy and the Akashic Brotherhood."

"How do you do?" the two men asked each other in the same perfect unison as their shaking of hands.

Whereupon, they all sat down.

"I'll get right to the point," declared Sir Roger: "Have you ever crossed swords with this man?"

The Green Lama looked at a photographic blow-up of an elderly man with curly white hair, wearing both a red-hooded robe. . .and a death's-head grin.

"Not personally," he replied: "But, I've seen this likeness before. In a dossier shown me by Jimmy Holm of the U.S. Secret Service. He calls himself _'Dr. Death_!' But, he was originally Rance Mandarin (Ph. D.). Former head of the Psychology Department at Yale,arch-enemy of my own alma mater, Harvard. He became involved with the Cult of Ecstasy, in India, during the Roaring Twenties. And, through them, met a Tremere-bonded Ravnos antitribu who subsequently vampirized him! After that, he became obsessed with forcing mankind back to a more primitive, and, in his opinion, more pacifistic, level of society. With himself as the benevolent despot thereof."

Sir Roger nodded his approval at the accuracy of that summary. He then added:

"We think he went to work for the Nazis in August of '39. In fact, we think he was the one responsible for the simultaneous secret police raids against Berlinhaus, Tokyo House, and Casa Roma just hours before the invasion of Poland! Now, we have reason to believe he might make a try for this. . .little trinket."

He held up the Ferrula Geminiarum.

"Officially, it's a historically valuable artifact that the London Museum is giving to the Smithsonian for safe-keeping during this so-called _'lightning war'_ of Hitler's. But, we'd like you to keep an extra-special eye on it, in case he tries to steal it for that lunatic's personal collection of occult talismans."

"Consider it done," the Green Lama replied.

* * * * *

**TEMPLE OF THE SEARING WIND,**

**SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA**

**(LATE SPRING, 1999)**

The two kuei-jin entered Yu Nohu's meditation chamber and kowtowed before him.

"You sent for us, sifu?"

The elderly Oriental opened his eyes and nodded.

"The goddess we serve has been tricked! I need you to head for this location in southern California, and intercept the undead gwai-lo who will be landing there, shortly."

He handed a slip of paper to the more senior of the two acolytes before continuing.

"Be warned. There will be two mortal gwai-lo with him. And, no ordinary mortals, either. They are both very powerful mages. So, you will need to bring some reinforcements with you. One of them is an old enemy of mine. . .called the Green Lama. He is the one who will be carrying what the goddess seeks! And, when you see him, you are to give him the following message."

**GIANT ROCK AIRPORT,**

**JOSHUA TREE, CALIF. **

**(1 HOUR LATER)**

The two figures materialized just outside the Integratron. Prompting the male half of the duo to put his right hand to his forehead.

"Whew! I'm getting too old for these ley line puddle-jumps, Magga."

The venerable Hermetic wizardess of House Shaea smiled.

"That is why we arranged for the last leg of this delivery to be made more. . .conventionally, Jethro Dumont."

She pointed to where the Harrier jumpjet of Sam Lawson was even now beginning its vertical descent. The vampiric test pilot had certainly logged a lot of air miles on this particular assignment! And, the DRI man who had told him about this additional flight had said it would be only _slightly_ shorter than the transatlantic crossing with Brother Demetrius.

"You'll head south/southwest to NAS Corpus Christi. From there, you head due west to these co-ordinates."

He handed Lawson a slip of paper, who duly memorized the latitude and longitude before returning it.

"The people you'll meet there have something you're to hand-deliver to a gentleman called Derek Rayne, in Frisco. And, that gentleman will be accompanied by another man, named Giles, and a young woman named Summers. Any questions?"

"Am I to ask for a password and counter-sign, sir?

The DRI man had grinned and nodded. And, after disclosing them both, he had asked if Lawson had any further questions.

"Sir! No, sir."

Lawson now looked over the strangely garbed duo walking towards him.

"Might as well get this over with," he muttered.

"M- - -I- - -C- - -K- - -E- - -Y," he chanted (in a slightly louder voice).

To which the Green Lama smilingly responded with:

"M- - -O- - -U- - -S- - -A!"

Lawson shook his head in half-serious self-pity.

"I guess that makes you the guy who's got something for me."

The Green Lama nodded. Reaching into the right-hand pocket of his verdant robe to remove the Dagon-sphere. Unfortunately, just as he was about to hand it over, he was interrupted by a vociferous shout from above.

"HOLD!"

This, in turn, prompted him, Lawson, and Magga to look upward at a dozen kuei-jin in black-and-red gis riding on the winged backs of monkey-like hsigos!.

"If you are the Green Lama," continued the apparent leader: ". . .we have a message for you from our sifu. We are to tell you that. . ._'Doc says hello_.'"

**tbc**

**Philip Strange:** _a Depression-era pulp fiction aviator-hero created by author (and future pioneer UFOlogist) Donald Keyhoe, he was an ex-child prodigy whose vaudeville mentalist act had been done with real ESP! An ability that later proved handy when he served as an ace fighter-pilot and spy for the Allies in World War I._

**Dr. Death:** _a mad scientist anti-hero created by author Harold Ward as one of the many pulp-era clones of Fu Manchu. With Federal agent Jimmy Holm as his chief nemesis._

**Magga**: _a mysterious woman who served as a kind of messenger to the Green Lama._


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41.  
**

**WASHINGTON, D.C.  
(FEB. 12, 1943)  
**  
Dr. Death had no problem flinging open the door to the sub-basement store room of the Smithsonian Institute. Entering it quite boldly, accompanied only by the two genin supplied by the Go Kamisori Gama sect of the Assamite Clan.

"Hello, Doc."

The all-too familiar voice made the not-so-good doctor halt in his tracks.

"Agent Holm?"

A flashlight clicked on, illuminating the face of the anarch wizard's arch-enemy.

"We meet again. And, this time, for the last time."

"With all due respect, Agent Holm, you've made similar assumptions about me before. . .that soon proved erroneous."

Jimmy Holm shrugged: "Even radio news weathermen have the right to be right, once in a while."

Dr. Death chuckled: "We out-number you, sir. That, alone, should persuade you to step aside and let us take the Ferrula Geminiarum without hindrance."

"And do what with it, exactly?"

"Something that should have your blessing, Agent. The death of Adolf Hitler! By ordering the capture my sire, and turning him over to the D.R.I. for study, he has severed all my ties to the Axis cause."

"Let me guess," replied the stalwart young Fed: "You plan to split him in two; drain the strong half dry; and have the weak half declare you his successor as ruler of Nazi Germany."

Dr. Death arched his eyebrows: "How. . .?"

"You might say a little bird told us," a new voice responded.

The owner of that voice stepped out of the shadows, to Jimmy Holm's right. Revealing himself to be the Green Lama.

"An RAF Eagle, to be exact," continued the latter: "Group Captain Dwight Renfield; bundist double-agent."

* * * * *

**ANTHEA ESTATES,**

**SAUSALITO, CALIF.**

**(LATE SPRING, 1999)**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

There was an awkward pause while Angel just stared at Dracula, slack-jawed, before finally demanding to know if the Transylvanian was crazy.

"What makes you think I'd ever betray Buffy like that?"

"To keep her from betraying you and all her other friends," countered Ethan: "You see, I'm going to kidnap her Mum. And, the demand for getting her back unharmed will be to steal those vellum pages for _me!"

Angel had heard enough: "You chaotic son of a. . .!"

He lunged forward; followed by Sonny, Oz, and myself. But, we might as well have never tried, for all the good we did. Because, at that same moment, Dracula turned into a giant dire wolf. Taking on all four of us, at the same time, and thereby delaying us just enough to allow Ethan and Drusilla to escape! The both of them doing so by Ethan grabbing on to Drusilla before using his enhanced chaos magic to turn them into a black cloud of smoke. Followed by their wafting out of there through the fall-out shelters ventilator shafts!

As for the four of us? Well, even with Oz going into Krinos mode, we proved no match for Dracula. We wound up being flung against the walls of that shelter like the proverbial rag dolls. Whereupon, he turned himself into black smoke, and followed after Ethan and Drusilla. And, the first thing Angel said, when we managed to pick ourselves up, was:

"I've got to warn Joyce!"

When we got back upstairs, however, we found that either Dracula or Ethan (_or both_) had crushed every single telephone in the condo. With all the tires on the clandestinely borrowed U-haul van getting slashed for good measure.

As the sinister trio of vampires drove off (_with Dracula telekinetically steering a Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows_), Ethan made a cellphone call.

"Sarpedon? It's me."

A brief pause.

"Blalock, you ninny! Anyway, I was wondering if you might make a second trip to the Vlodnik for me. To collect that brass-tipped rod of Tothric's."

Another pause.

"Fine, fine! Double the previous payment. But, for that price, I expect personal hand-delivery to me."

Yet, one more pause.

"Why, Sunnydale, of course! See you there in. . .one hour?"

**PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,**

**SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT HILTON**

**(7:00 A.M./PST)**

Giles had taken Willow and Xander into the living room to discuss what options they had for determining who the courier of the vellum pages might be. So, none of them was present to see the still-hypnotically sleeping Buffy suddenly open her eyes and sit bolt upright!

She got up off the bed, went over to the main dresser bureau, and withdrew a cellphone from the top drawer. Whereupon, she began dialing a certain seven-digit number. And, after the third ring, someone on the other end picked up.

"Hello, Mom? It's me. I just wanted to tell you that, while I wish I could be there to stop it, I can't. So, just try not to be too afraid. And, like that old song says. . .know that I love you."

**BEL AIR, CALIFORNIA**

**(JAN. 20, 1981)**

"It was quite the knock-down/drag-out fight, I can tell you. But, Agent Holm and I got all three of them! Wouldn't you know it, though? It turned out that Doc Death had sent _three_ Assamites to get the Ferrula Gemininarum. With the third one posing as himself! But, you didn't come here just to listen to your father-in-law's war stories. What's on your mind, Henry?"

Hank Summers, House Fortunae's personal liaison between the DRI and the Order of Hermes, shook his head, with a wry smirk, at Jethro Dumont's stubborn-yet-good-natured insistence on calling him by his formal given name.

"I came to show you our very first baby photos of Buffy."

At this news, the semi-retired Green Lama leaned forward in his chair with a speed and eagerness that belied his age.

"Gimme-gimme-gimme!"

Hank could not resist laughing as he handed them over. Despite the knowledge of what would happen when Jethro got to the last photo in the batch. And, sure enough: after the first thirty seconds of proud, grandfatherly chuckles, there came a tell-tale gasp.

"The Mark of Sinea?!"

Hank nodded.

"That's why I'm really here. I won't allow the Watchers to recruit her as a Potential, Jeth. Quentin Travers has become a little too fond of the Cruciamentum, for my peace of mind. And, no daughter of mine is going to go through that sadistic bull-crap!"

"Don't you think you're being a tad paranoid?" replied Jethro. "Even for our line of work? I mean, the chances of Buffy someday being called as the active Slayer. . ."

"Any chance greater than zero is _too_ great!" snapped his son-in-law. "I mean it, Jeth. I need your help. Only you can erase the Mark so that none of the Council's usual locator spells can even home in on where it was surgically removed from!"

There was an awkward pause, while the Green Lama considered this. Finally, however, he nodded. Emphasizing his agreement with a reassuring hand on Hank's left shoulder.

"I'll do my best. Hopefully, time will prove your fears to have been groundless."

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

**(LATE SPRING, 1999)**

The midnight-black Escalade crossed the Marin County line at one minute before seven. A fact that was promptly pointed out to Ethan Rayne by Drusilla.

"Thank you, love," replied the vampirized chaos-worshipper. "Time for me to pop down to Sunnydale."

Actually, it was not so much "popping" as teleportation via the fae-realm known as the Umbra. An ability he had gained when he diablerized a naive genuine Kiasyd (with puppy-dog eyes) named Clem! In any event, by seven o'clock proper, he had rematerialized within the abandoned storefront he had once occupied as a Halloween costumier.* Seconds later, there was a heavy pounding on the back door to the shop.

Ethan ran over to open it. . .and smiled upon seeing Sarpedon the Celerity Demon standing there.

"OK! Here's the rod. Where's my money?"

** tbc**

*_See "Dinkoes Ate My Baby."_

**P.S.**-_Diablerie is when one vampire kills another for their blood (a.k.a. "vitae"). _

_Yes, that's the same Clem (of the Bassett hound eyes and ears) who used to baby-sit dawn in the mainstream Buffyverse._


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42.  
**

**PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,  
S.F. AIRPORT HILTON,  
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.  
LATE SPRING, 1999  
(7:05 A.M./PST)  
**  
It was Xander who heard the not-quite muted whispering from the direction of the bedroom where they had left Buffy. So, he excused himself from Willow and Giles and went to investigate.

"Buff? You okay?"

The somnambulistic Slayer looked at the young man: "I'm fine. But, Mom's about to get kidnapped."

Xander could not decide what was more astounding; what Buffy had just said. . .or the almost-blissful _way_ she had said it.

* * * * *

** SUMMERS RESIDENCE,  
SUNNYDALE, CAL.  
**  
Joyce looked at the telephone receiver in complete bewilderment.

"Buffy," she finally replied: "I know what you do requires a great deal of catharsis. And, that it often takes the form of gallows-humor. But, if this is one such morbid joke, it is most definitely not even remotely funny! So, call me again, later this evening, when I get home from work."

Whereupon, Joyce hung up the phone and headed for the front door, car keys in hand. When she opened the front door, however, she was so startled by the man she found standing just outside, on the front stoop, that she almost dropped the keys!

"Oh! Oh, dear. I'm so sorry for yelling like that, sir. It's just that. . ."

"Quite all right, Mrs. Summers," replied Ethan Rayne: "A perfectly normal, and understandably instinctive, reaction."

"Thank you, Mr. . .?"

She paused as the realization hit her.

"Wait a minute! How did you know my. . .?"

She was cut off by her envelopment within a sickly-green beam of light.

* * * * *

**JOSHUA TREE, CALIF.  
(7:10 A.M./PST)  
**  
Sam Lawson reacted immediately. Faster than most human eyes would be able to follow, he unzipped the top part of his flight suit and withdrew a Colt M-1911.

"Get out of here!" he shouted over to the Green Lama and Magga: "I'll hold them off as long as I can."

"No, wait. . .!" the former tried to reply. But, it was too late. Lawson was already opening fire up at the hsigo of the lead kuei-jin. And, sure enough; his first bullet hit it right between the eyes. A feat of marksmanship he duplicated with the two hsigos next to it! Unfortunately, if he had been under the belief that their sun-blocked riders would crash to earth with them, he was destined to meet his Final Death extremely disappointed.

With a well-synchronized "kiai," all three kuei-jin angled their bodies like skydivers. So that, when they landed on the ground, they were six feet closer to Lawson. Whereupon, they used the momentum of their landing to spring upward once again. Closing the remaining distance between themselves and the gun-wielding Caitiff before he could properly realign his aim.

* * * * *

**SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT HILTON  
(7:12 A.M./PST)  
**  
The instant Xander had gotten over his shock, he ran back into the living room to get Giles and Willow. Practically dragging the former by his right hand!

"Quick, Buff. Repeat for them what you just told me."

The blonde Slayer, still under the hypnotic trance, did as instructed.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Giles, trying hard to fight his rising sense of panic by _not_ polishing his glasses: "Buffy? Buffy, tell me. Exactly _who_ is abducting your mother?"

"Ethan Rayne," she calmly replied: "He's used the Ferrula Geminiarum to split her in two. He will then hypnotize her stronger half into going to work, as usual, so our neighbors in Sunnydale don't suspect anything. Meanwhile, he's going to call us here and tell us he's holding her weaker half hostage. Threatening to let both halves die of neuro-empathic exhaustion if I don't steal those vellum incantations for him."

"And, if you comply?" continued Giles: "Where are you to meet him for this alleged exchange?"

"Atop the central tower of the Golden Gate Bridge."

It was at this exact moment that the phone on the bedroom nightstand began ringing...just as predicted.

* * * * *

**JOSHUA TREE, CALIF.  
(7:15 A.M./PST)  
**  
When he first began fighting crime, during the 1930's, the Green Lama had used what the Akashic Brotherhood had taught, concerning "radioactive salts," to devise a kind of battery powered by a compound of lithium and radio-iodine. And, with a pair of these lithium iodide batteries strapped to his each of his forearms, he could turn his index and middle fingers into organic TASER's! Non-lethally subduing any and all gun-wielding assailants with a temporarily paralytic electric shock.

But, these were not mortal gunmen currently dismembering Sam Lawson. These were kuei-jin, armed with chain whips and hook swords. And, they could recover from such paralysis much more quickly than humans! Just as their pet hsigos were now beginning to regenerate from their otherwise fatal head wounds.

Add this to the fact that there were still nine more kuei-jin hovering aloft, and the Green Lama saw no other choice.

"Magga? Give me the chu-ko-nu."

"What?!" she exclaimed.

"Take the Dagon-sphere, and deliver it to Frisco! I'll stay here, and hold them off."

"You are not as young as you used to be, Jethro Dumont! If anyone should hold these off-"

"Do what I say, woman!" the Green Lama snapped: "Get going!"

The Shaean wizardess reluctantly acquiesced. Although, not without glowering at him. Two seconds later, she was gone. And, the Green Lama hefted the chu-ko-nu (_a modern variant of the Chinese repeating crossbow, operating on the principles of the Gatling gun_) up to chest level. The same way anyone else might heft a double-barreled shotgun.

"All right, folks. What say we get this party started, without further delay?"

Whereupon, he fired the first three silver quarrels into Sam Lawson's killers. Followed by all three of their pet hsigos.

* * * * *

**SANTA BARBARA CHANNEL, CALIFORNIA  
(7:17 A.M./PST)  
**  
The Ropen had finally reached the West Coast of the United States. A Setite-Embraced practitioner of the Hem Ka Sobk Craft, rather than a true dragon, he had once tried to seize power from Cleopatra VII, last of the Egyptian Ptolemies. But, Shaea, a crescent-moon theurge of the Silent Strider Garou, had used the fabled Dagon-sphere to bolster her own considerable magicks and drive him off. Sending him into what she had thought would be permanent exile in the farthest corner of the then-known world: the island of New Guinea.

Shaea's curse had weakened over the millennia, however. To the point where Glory's re-emergence on the Earthly plane had eliminated it, altogether! Thereby gaining her the Ropen's undying gratitude and loyalty.

Now, he and the Glorious One were approaching the Channel Island of San Miguel.

"OK, Ropen!" she exclaimed: "Home in on those ley lines. This trip has taken way too long, already."

One smoky snort of agreement later, the Ropen and Glordelia disappeared from the video lenses of the DRI spy satellites that had been tracking them. A moment later, they rematerialized much further eastward. Somewhere between the Superstition Mountains of Arizona and the Colorado Piedmont.

"There it is, Ropen!" Glordelia shrieked with glee: "There's the little tin bird carrying the guy I'm looking for."

She pointed to the white Legacy Learjet carrying Brother Demetrius. And, when the almost-incredulous pilots of the plane spotted her heading toward them on an intercept course, they told their passengers to strap in as they were about to try some evasive action! But, it was ultimately no use. Though the Learjet managed to withstand being buffeted by the slipstream of the initial near-miss, it could not evade the stream of fire issued by the Ropen upon the latter's U-turn. A stream of fire that set the plane's entire tail ablaze!

The Learjet went into an uncontrollable power dive, with the chief pilot broadcasting a constant "Mayday," as Brother Demetrius and Kristin Adams unbuckled their safety belts. Struggling for all they were worth against the G-forces assailing them so they could each don a parachute pack. The Greek monk was _still_ struggling, however, when he suddenly found himself at the center of a shower of white orbs of light!

His disappearance, parachute and all, in the midst of those orbs was the last thing Kristin Adams ever saw.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, back at the Presidential Suite of the S.F. Airport Hilton, Rupert Giles was finding it ever more difficult to remain calm as he listened to the vampirized Ethan Rayne unwittingly repeat, over the phone, most of what Buffy had already told him (_before finally being brought out of her precognitive trance with a finger snap from Xander_).

"And, just where are we to make the exchange?" he asked through gritted teeth: "Assuming we succeed at stealing those vellum pages once the Learjet has landed."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ripper," replied Ethan with an irritating gloat: "Didn't I tell you? The pages aren't aboard there, anymore. They and their courier are now waiting for the Slayer at a picturesque little manor house on Prescott Street. Number 1329, to be precise! So, that's where we'll make the exchange."

**tbc**


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43.  
**

** JOSHUA TREE, CAL.  
LATE SPRING, 1997  
(7:20 A.M./PST)  
**  
The moment the Green Lama raised the chu-ko-nu to eye level, the three kuei-jin advancing on him jumped into the air as one. But, he had been anticipating that! And, as a result, he only had to slightly readjust his aim towards the truly intended target. The areas of each one's upper legs, above their knee caps.

Consequently, the pain from the blessed silver quarrels disrupted their concentration enough that each of them landed in a fetal heap on the ground.

Nor was the Green Lama slow in following up this opportunity. Putting them out of their collective misery, before turning his attention to their hsigo mounts. Unfortunately, these so-called "flying monkeys" were quick learners. And, upon taking to the air, they flew off in three separate directions. As did their compatriots, who were still mounted by the other kuei-jin.

"Blasted piece of crap!" growled their would-be destroyer in frustration: "How did Gabe Van Helsing ever live so long using this?"

Seeing that the rotating, multi-barreled magazine was beginning to run perilously low on quarrels, he saw no other choice. He slowly backed up, re-entering the Integratron while still facing his enemies. And, keeping them at bay with staccato bursts of the remaining quarrels. Some of them even managing to hit and wound their intended targets!

When the time came, however, he turned and ran over to the activation switch inside the nearly geodesic dome. The radar dish-like mirror next to it collected and reflected the necessary sunlight on to the solar battery panels. And, the Green Lama tapped into that energy. Flinging the now-empty crossbow towards the door of the chamber just instants before he teleported away.

* * * * *

** ANTHEA ESTATES,  
SAUSALITO, CAL.**

MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.  
  
For the first few moments after Ethan, Drusilla, and Dracula had escaped, we were really pissed off at our helplessness. Then, it hit me: I had own my cellphone! And, when I said as much aloud, Angel quickly gave me Joyce Summers' home phone number. Unfortunately, all I got was a busy signal. So, the next call I made was to Julian Luna. With Sonny Toussaint borrowing my phone to give the Ventrue Prince a terse summary of what had happened up here. Not to mention, our urgent need for an alternate means of transportation faster than the immobilized van we had "_confiscated_" from the SFPD.

A little over an hour later, a Bell JetRanger helicopter (with a tinted cockpit windshield) touched down on the front lawn of Ethan Rayne's time-share condo.

Oz, being human, ran outside to open the right-hand door to the rear passenger compartment for the rest of us. And, we used all the vampiric speed we weren't too tired to muster to dash inside there! Then, he closed the door and climbed into the front passenger seat next to the pilot. And, his surprise at the pilot's identity was no greater than our own.

Nick Knight's grin was positively shameless.

"Remind me to tell you about _'Mike Rivers_' of Team Airwolf, sometime."

Whereupon, he took off and headed us southward.

* * * * *

** 1329 PRESCOTT STREET,  
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.  
(7:25 A.M./PST)  
**  
The lovely blue-eyed brunette opened the front door.

"Ms. Prudence Halliwell?" said the white-haired woman in the strange golden robe.

"Yes?" asked the former with suspicion.

"I am Magga of House Shaea. And, I need the help of the Charmed Ones."

* * * * *

**SOMEWHERE AROUND SAN FRANCISCO BAY  
**  
Glordelia had the Ropen land near a certain storm drain. The second he did so, he immediately shifted to the only other shape he was capable of; that of a "serpentaur." In his case, half-man/half-asp.

Like most other Hem Ka Sobk mages, in ancient Egypt, Lotan of the Eighth Sun had been a homid Kinsman of the North African Mokole. Born without the power to assume Dracoform. Yet, none of that had had ever bothered him, before. That is; not until Cleopatra's marriage to the accursed Julius Caesar. He could not believe that Shaea of the Crescent Moon had successfully persuaded the Crowned Ones that Egypt would only benefit from such an alliance with the Tetrasomians of Rome!

Worse still, he could not accept it. Which is why he had ultimately committed the Great Blasphemy: letting himself be "_Embraced_" by a Follower of Set. So he could gain the power of Serpentis. . .

. . .and thereby swallow eggs from the clutch of a Crowned One.

Thus, did he finally gain the power to assume Dracoform! A power that not even Shaea, armed with the Dagon-sphere, could remove. Merely curtail. And, while the Gumagan of Australasia had initially done their best to reinforce her geas of exile upon him, their power gradually weakened, over the centuries, due to the often-violent reduction in their numbers at the hands of immigrant Euro-Kindred.

Which, of course, had unwittingly aided the Ropen (as he had long since grown accustomed to hearing his birth-name mispronounced).

Now, though, he slithered his way through the miles of sewers beneath San Francisco. Only his upper torso being kept off the ground, as he was currently holding Glordelia in both his arms. The same way a newlywed husband carries his bride over the threshold of their first residence. This was not because of any similar affection she might hold for the Ropen, however. She had merely been reluctant to _walk_ through the sewers, as all that filth might stain her lovely dress (what little of it she wore)!

Eventually, they reached their destination: the Temple of the Searing Wind. And, Sifu Yu Nohu led all his acolytes in kneeling before her.

"Welcome to our humble abode, Glorious One."

"Heh!" Glordelia snorted in mild disdain: "What is with the Kwai Chang Caine look? This isn't KUNG FU: THE LEGEND CONTINUES! Stand up and make with your true appearance."

The erstwhile Dr. Death did as he was told. Whereupon, there was a brief shimmer of grayish light. Seconds later, he looked more like an Appalachian store keeper than a kuei-jin high priest! What with his brown-checkered shirt, gray pants, and black clodhoppers with matching belt.

"How else may I be of service, Glorious One?"

"Get a bubble bath ready for me. It's a dirty job flying thousands of miles to destroy that lousy Dagon-sphere. And, the stupid mortals transporting it!"

"Doc" instantly lost his fawning smile.

"I'm afraid there's a slight problem with that, Your Gloriousness."

* * * * *

** PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,  
S.F. AIRPORT HILTON  
(7:32 A.M./PST)  
**  
Willow, Xander, and Giles had just finished updating Buffy about what she had told them (about her mother's abduction by Ethan Rayne), during her trance, when they suddenly received another surprise. Namely; an old man, in a hooded green robe, who had literally just appeared out of thin air, and fallen to his knees.

"Please, don't be alarmed!" he immediately exclaimed: "My name is Jethro Dumont. A.k.a. the Green Lama. And, among other things? I'm Buffy's maternal grandfather."

Xander's reaction arguably said it best for all of them.

"Holy Empire Strikes Back, Batman!"

** tbc**

**Mini-glossary  
**  
_**Crowned Ones:**__ ruling class of the African Mokole (usually born during a total eclipse)._

_**Shaea:**__ eponymous founder of the Hermetic wizarding house that bears her name. I have merely extrapolated that she was a Silent Strider theurge. As, in my opinion, the wandering ways of that particular Garou tribe are very compatible with traveling here and there, gathering together like-minded female wielders of magic. Some of whom might have been homid Kinfolk of the Bubasti, the Children of Gaia, or even Syrian Gurahl!_

_**Tetrasomians:**__ Latin name for the Glass Walker Garou of ancient Rome._


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

"So, my dad was, like, the 007 of monster-hunters?" summarized Buffy.

Jethro Dumont, who had just spent the last hour explaining everything to her, nodded.

"You see, House Fortunae was created in 1936, through the consolidation of Houses Mercere and Luxor. And, as their membership consisted mostly of non-magical mortals, they eventually came to be seen as a free-lance affiliate of the Initiative. Especially, during the Cold War, when the Legacy had to refrain from directly interfering with their renegade East Berlinhaus!"

"That KGB/Terakan Treaty," she replied.

The Green Lama nodded, again.

"The only reason he never told you about his work is because he wanted you to have as normal a childhood as possible."

"Sort of the same reason Mom never told me that _her_ dad was a bona fide World War II superhero, I guess."

"Hey!" he exclaimed: "I was only called that in the comic book. And, the only reason I let the Pentagon talk me into lending my likeness to it was as a fund-raising morale booster for the war effort. If I'd known how the artists were going to depict me, I might still have refused! Have you _seen_ some of the on-line reproductions of their artwork? That costume makes me look like the love-child of Superman and Peter Pan. Ewwwwwwww!"

The Green Lama emphasized that last part with a visible shudder. Which made Buffy laugh.

"Thank you SO much for that imagery!"

"You are most welcome," he said with an exaggerated bow (glad that his tension-breaking ploy had worked).

It was at that moment that all further conversation was drowned out by the sound of a Bell JetRanger landing on the rooftop heli-pad of the Presidential Suite.

**S.F. AIPORT HILTON**

**(8:32 A.M./PST)**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

As soon as Nick Knight had landed his chopper, he took off his earphones and looked at the three of us (me, Angel, and Sonny Toussaint) sitting in the backseat.

"OK! This will merely be a reversal of the same procedure as when I picked you up. Oz opens the doors and we make a run for it, to the sliding glass doors on the veranda. You ready, Oz?"

Oz nodded. A minute later, we were standing in the living room of the Presidential Suite! Little wisps of gray coming from the collars of Angel's and Nick's long coats!

"Whoa!" exclaimed Xander: "I've heard of smoking jackets. But, this is ridiculous!"

"Cut it out, Xan," I chided: "We've got some serious stuff to discuss."

"You're not kidding," added Oz, as he finally came in behind us.

And, Willow, seeing him, cried out his name and ran straight into his arms. A more cynical person might say that all that was missing was slow motion and violin music! But, I'm more old-fashioned. The world might be a lot better place, today, if people were less bashful about kissing in public. Provided, of course, the kissing was done for not-just-carnal reasons.

When they were through kissing, Willow looked him straight in the eyes and smiled.

"It's good to see you again, Fuzzy Wolf."

"Yeah," said Oz (with a return smile): "You, too."

"Uh, pardon me for breaking this up," interjected Sonny: "But, don't we have some crucial low-down to dish out?"

"He's right," said Angel. "Where's Buffy? She'll need to hear this, too."

Xander, Willow, and Giles pointed to the master bedroom as one. And, out of it stepped Buffy, alongside a guy I used to read about in No-Prize Comics. A guy I couldn't help blurting out the name of, in shocked recognition.

"The Green Lama?"

It took all of us about ninety minutes to update each other as to what had happened in our mutual absences.

"So, let me see if I have this straight," I began (mostly for my own benefit): "The Dagon-sphere, which is the only thing that can disable this Glory, is also the only thing that can allow a small group of magic-users to cast those two spells as effectively as a whole big group of same. And, both items are now in the same place?!"

"It can't be helped," replied Jethro Dumont: "The house on Prescott sits atop what is basically a positive counterpart to the Sunnydale Hellmouth. And, its present owners are three of the most powerful members of the Verbenae in the last three hundred years! We need their help to incorporate the Key."

"What I don't understand," said Xander: "...is why Dracula, Drusilla, and Ethan Rayne want to get their hands on this stuff. What's their angle?"

"Self-interest, most likely," replied Angel: "Dracula's biggest ambition is to someday rule the entire Sabbat. And, then, the world. But, if Glory destroys the world, getting back to her own dimension...?"

He shrugged, the rest of his statement not needing to be uttered.

"What still puzzles me," confessed Giles: "...is the nature of your vision, Buffy. Ethan wants the exchange to transpire right at that residence. Yet, you foresaw it occurring atop Golden Gate Bridge!"

"Knowing Ethan," muttered Willow: "...he's probably got a double-cross already planned."

"If that's the case," declared Buffy: "...then I vote I go there, with Willow, to warn the owners of what's coming."

"I'll come with you," said the Green Lama: "Just in case they doubt your story."

"Good idea!" agreed Sonny: "And, I'll call my partner, Frank, to give you a police escort."

**1329 PRESCOTT STREET**

"So, let me get this straight," Prue Halliwell remarked: "...you belong to a sub-sect of this House Shaea called _'the Guardians_.' And, you're the last of them."

Magga nodded: "That is correct."

In response to this, Prue's middle sister, Piper, asked the obvious: "Guardians of what, though? Or, should I say, '_whom_?' "

"Of the Marked Ones. Perhaps better known to you as the Daughters of Sinea."

"I have heard whispers of them," Brother Demetrius affirmed: "It is said that they were tasked by Shaea, herself, to keep an eye on They Who Watch Over From the Shadows. In silent protest of how Sinea the First Slayer was first imbued with her powers!"

"In other words," paraphrased Phoebe (the youngest Halliwell): "...you watched the Watchers."

Magga nodded, again, adding: "We have also stored and guarded whatever the Marked Ones might need, most urgently. In this case, the augmentation and enjoining spells."

"Then, what are we waiting for?" exclaimed Phoebe: "Let's take these pages, and the Dagon-sphere, up to the attic and start chanting!"

"We must wait for the three who will be most vital to the casting," replied Magga.

"But, if time is of the essence," countered Leo Wyatt (the Charmed Ones' white-lighter): "...maybe I should save time, and orb those three here."

Prue nodded her approval, and Leo orbed away.

**TEMPLE OF THE SEARING WIND,**

**CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO**

Through what some of her followers would call a small miracle, Glordelia grudgingly managed the patience necessary to hear out the erstwhile Dr. Death.

"So, the spirits you commune with told you that these Charmed Ones have possession of my own personal kryptonite. And, you've done nothing about it?!"

"The Charmed Ones are no ordinary witches, Glorificus. For my acolytes to invade their domicile would be tantamount to non-productive suicide!"

Glordelia pointed to the palm of her right hand.

"Speak into here, Doc. Because my ears are tired of excuses!"

She then turned to the Ropen.

"Baby? Why don't you snake your way over to Prescott Street and smash the Dagon-sphere, okay? And, if these Charmed Ones try to interfere? Feel free to treat 'em like mice!"

The Ropen nodded, and slithered off. Whereupon, "Doc" meaningfully cleared his throat.

"If you have something else to add," warned Glordelia: "...it had better be _good_ news."

"Well, it's like this, Your Glory," replied the high priest: "On the off-chance, however unlikely, that the Ropen is vanquished? I would respectfully advise taking out some insurance."

"Define '_insurance_.' "

"Next to you, the Slayer is the only other being on this planet with the power to best the Charmed Ones. So, why not take one of her friends hostage, and force _her_ to smash the Dagon-sphere, on your behalf, to insure that friend's safe return?"

Glordelia pondered this suggestion for a few moments. Then, she grinned.

"Not bad! Any of your spirit friends happen to know where they're staying?"

"Doc" nodded. "The Presidential Suite of the San Francisco Airport Hilton."

"Then, I guess it's time for a little class reunion!"

At which point, she teleported away.

** tbc**

_For the purposes of this story, I imagine the Ropen as an amalgam of the Spawn of Sobek (from "Shadow" a.k.a. BTVS Episode 5.8) with the CGI dragon from the ANGEL series finale. While Sifu Yu Nohu is an amalgam of "Doc" (from "Forever" a.k.a. BTVS Episode 5.17) with the Korean sensei Chiun as played by Joel Grey in the campy martial arts flick REMO WILLIAMS (based on the "Destroyer" novels by Warren Murray and Richard Sapir)._


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45.**

* * * * *

PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,  
S.F. AIRPORT HILTON,  
MID-JUNE 1999  
(8:35 A.M./PST)

MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.

Sonny Toussaint was just activating his cellphone when it happened.

"Don't touch that dial!"

Everybody looked at the scantily-clad young woman who had uttered that command.

"C-C-C-Cordelia?" stammered Willow.

"It's pronounced 'Glordelia,' Little Miss Witchie-poo," snapped the new arrival: "But, I'm not here to talk to you. I'm here. . .for Xander."

Everybody looked at him, now, and he gulped as he slowly stepped forward.

"What can I do for you, Cordie? Before you answer, though, might I say that I _love_ this new look of yours! Sort of like Disney's Cindrella meets Slave-girl Leia."

"Quiet, Zeppo! This isn't a social call. It's a kidnapping!"

"A kidMMMMMMMPH?!"

Before he could utter another wisecrack, Glordelia had suddenly thrown her black cloak over Xander! After which, she then began to wrap foot after foot of black electrical tape around it! !

"Xander ! ! !" screamed Willow.

The first of us to spring into action was Nick Knight; the eight hundred-year-old warrior. Sonny, Angel, and I followed suit. As did Oz (after transforming into a dire wolf). But, our fight with her proved even more one-sided than our duel with Dracula! Glordelia stopped Nick's lunge with a simple outward thrust of her left arm. Clutching his throat in her left hand, while simultaneously swinging counter-clockwise, from right to left, before letting him go.

Nick crashed through one of the few windows of the suite that did _not_ open out onto a balcony. . .and into the broad daylight beyond.

The stomach-churning smell of burnt flesh reached my nostrils even as Ange, Sonny, and I tackled Glordelia from behind. Causing to land face-first on the carpeted floor. Yet, even as Angel was about to put her head in a sleeper hold, Glordelia was fighting back. Doing a reverse head-butt against the bottom of Angel's jaw. Followed by a left-to-right body roll that basically tossed Sonny over head and across her back, straight into Angel and me!

It was at this point that Oz tried to pin her back down, in his half-giant lupine form. But, as with Nick, Glordelia was able to keep him literally at arm's length, while simultaneously springing back on to her feet. She then grabbed the other side of his neck, with her right hand, before spinning three hundred sixty degrees, three times fast, and throwing him in the direction of Buffy and the others! Buffy, however, was already running forward when Glordelia released her double-handed hold on Oz. She then leaped up and over Oz, while the Green Lama muttered some kind of incantation that suspended Oz in mid-air. . .just two feet from Willow and Giles.

In the meantime, Buffy had used the momentum of her landing to somersault forward, spring back up in the air, and land a double-soled kick with her feet. . .straight into Glordelia's face!

Now, it was her turn to go flying through a window. Only, this time, it did open out onto part of the balcony. And, Buffy was quick to run out there after her. Trying to follow up on this current turn of the tables, by pummeling Glordelia with a series of head-snapping left and right hooks! As for me? I used that opportunity to get a still-stunned Sonny and Angel off from on top of me. Following which, I went over to where Xander was still struggling and writhing around. His whole body looking like an Egyptian mummy, spray-painted black.

Before I could even get one inch of that electrical tape removed, however, a new human projectile collided with me. It was Buffy, herself!

"Ha!" laughed Glordelia (as she straightened her tiara, her face hardly even bruised): "You don't how long my Cordelia side has been wanting to do that, Slayer! But, business before pleasure."

Whereupon, she strode over to the cape-wrapped Xander and threw him over her right shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"You want him back, alive and unharmed? You bring me the Dagon-sphere, in thirty minutes' time, atop the central tower of the Golden Gate Bridge. Or I throw Zeppo Lad off of there!"

At which point, she teleported away.

* * * * *

We were still dusting ourselves off when someone else came on the scene. This one, arriving in a series of bright white orbs of light. And he immediately stretched out both arms when he saw we were about to attack him!

"Whoa-whoa-WHOA! I'm not an enemy! My name's Leo Wyatt and I come in peace."

"He's telling the truth!" exclaimed the Green Lama: "He and I have crossed paths, before. He's a white-lighter; a sort of guardian angel to practitioners of white magic. And I think he's come here on behalf of the Charmed Ones."

"Who are they?" demanded Buffy: "Some Goth rock band?"

The Green Lama half-smiled: "No! They're the owners of that Prescott Street manor house I told you about."

* * * * *

** OMNISCIENT AUTHOR P.O.V.  
**  
Julian Luna had just finished sipping his breakfast drink when his cellphone vibrated. Withdrawing it from his blazer's right pocket, he looked at the caller ID before answering.

"Sonny? How did everything turn out?"

He spent the next thirty minutes listening to his chief assistant's report. When Sonny had finished, it would have been an understatement to describe the Ventrue Prince of San Francisco as very grim.

"Are you sure about Nicholas?"

"As sure as I can be without getting third-degree sunburn, myself! Oz took on Glabro form and stuck his head out the window to look and sniff around. There were no lookey-Lou's gathering around down on the side walk, like they might with a conventional corpse. While there was all too _much_ cremation smell in the vicinity of the window sill!"

Julian shook his head. After Archon's Final Death, he had been succeeded as Ventrue Primogen, first, by Philippe D'Arcy. And, then, by the latter's eldest "childe," Marcus. It had come as quite a shock, however, to learn that not only had Marcus actually been Philippe's sire. But, that they had also been double-agents for the Sabbat, trying to foment a war between his Conclave and the local Legacy House!

It had been Nick Knight's acting as diplomatic go-between that had helped ease tensions between the two factions. Thereby legitimately earning him Archon's seat at the Conclave.

"You want me to notify his wife?" Sonny now asked, interrupting Julian's mournful introspection.

"No, I'll do that, myself. Thank you, anyway."

The two Kindred subconsciously hung up at the same time.

* * * * *  
**HALLIWELL MANOR,**

**(8:50 A.M./PST)**

With the Green Lama having vouched for him, Leo was able to "orb" Willow, Buffy, and Jethro Dumont to the manor house of the Charmed Ones. The latter, after introducing themselves, then introduced Brother Demetrius and Magga.

"So, where do you want to cast these spells," asked Buffy.

"Right this way," replied Prue Halliwell.

She lead the entire entourage to the attic where the Charmed Ones kept their Book of Spells. Once there, Phoebe instructed Willow, Magga, the Green Lama, and Brother Demetrius to gather in a semi-circle around the other side of the podium. When they had done so, the Greek monk handed over the first of the two vellum pages. The one for the enjoining spell. Prue placed it atop the

Book, while Piper held the Dagon-sphere over it. Then, all seven of them began chanting, while Buffy merely watched from the top of the stairway. Mentally wishing she could be doing something more than that.

As if in response, the Ropen (in his "serpentaur" form) emerged from the sewer grating near the entrance to the manor's driveway.

**tbc**

**FooTNotE - **

**Zeppo:** _stage name for Herbert Manfred Marx (1901-1979), who played the only normal one of the Marx Brothers in their first five comedy films for Paramount Studios. After retiring from acting, he went into business with his slightly older brother Milton (a.k.a. "Gummo") as partners in a theatrical agency._


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46.**

The Ropen wanted to infiltrate the manor house as subtly as possible. So, he slithered completely on his belly across the Halliwell's front lawn. But, no sooner had his upper torso reached the driveway, than it happened. A midnight-black Escalade, with tinted windows, came racing into the driveway and ran right over him!

"Did we get him, Vlad?" asked Drusilla.

"Only one way to tell for sure, my love," replied Dracula.

He telekinetically put the steering lever into reverse and backed the 4-wheel drive Cadillac up. As soon as he had done that, however, the Ropen reared up (like the giant cobra he resembled), and used his clawed left hand to smash the front windshield! Drusilla screamed in panic, instantly diving to the floor of the Escalade's rear seat to avoid the shaft of sunlight that came beaming in. But, Dracula had a little more solar-tolerance. And, he made effective use of it by turning into black mist. . .and billowing himself right into the Ropen's open mouth.

The latter immediately snapped his jaws shut. It was too late, though! The self-proclaimed Lord of Vampires had already gone straight down his throat and into his digestive system. There, he changed back to his more corporeal form. . .and subsequently burst forth from the Ropen's chest.

"Unh!" he winced, as he returned to the shelter of the back seat: "That seemed so much easier when Sigourney Weaver's alien did it!"

Unfortunately, for him and Drusilla, the Ropen was also more regenerative than a cinematic xenomorph. A fact verified when the latter reared upward, once again.

Buffy, unable to help with the reading of the first incantation over the Book of Shadows, was trying to think of other things while guarding the top of the attic stairs. She was, thus, once again unprepared for the intense pain that coursed through her head as she received another precognitive vision! A vision of her mother lying on the front seat of Dracula's Escalade. And, of the Ropen reassuming his draconic form. . .

. . .just before engulfing both the vehicle and its occupants in flame.

It was at this moment that the others stopped the incantation. Buffy looked at the group, and vice-versa.

"We are enjoined," she said (in a strangely distorted, yet still distinct voice): "And you know what I must do."

The group surrounding the Book of Shadow nodded as one.

Even as Dracula used telekinesis to reassemble the shattered front window, the Ropen was preparing to transform. His concentration was broken, however, by a sudden spasm of pain that traveled upward from just above the tip of his snake-like tail!

It was Buffy.

On her way down from the Halliwell attic, she had exited through the kitchen. Allowing her to take up a small arsenal of four butcher knives, two meat cleavers, and a sterling silver serving tray, before barging through the back door. She had then used the first of the knives to impale the Ropen's tail, before leaping upward and implanting the second one in the small of his humanoid back!

The enraged Setite roared with pain and anger. Swaying back and forth in a frenetic attempt to dislodge the Slayer. To no avail, though. So, he resorted to "cracking the whip." Sending ripples down his back and along the upper portion of his tail, with ever increasing speed, until Buffy ultimately flew off his back and landed flat on her own! The Ropen then took the offensive. Curving around and lunging down to impale the Slayer with his venomous fangs. But, Buffy was way ahead of him. She whipped the serving tray out, from within the left inner lining of her leather jacket. . .

. . .and used it as a shield.

Once more, the Ropen screamed with pain. This time, from catching his teeth in the metal of the tray! Buffy did not stop there, however. Rolling over to her left, she used the tray as a lever. Breaking each fang in half, as a result!

The Ropen instinctively covered is mouth with both of his clawed hands, allowing Buffy to back-flip back on to her feet. She then leaped upward and forward. Using her momentum to crash both her and the Ropen on to the roof of the Escalade. This, of course, caused to indent inward. Much to the startlement of the yelping Drusilla! Yet, Buffy did not stop there. Withdrawing each of the meat cleavers, she used them to both sides of his cobra-like hood to the roof!

After which, she used the two remaining butcher knives. . .to impale him through each eye. Stabbing downward, over and over and over, until the semi-reptilian nerves of the old Setite had finally gotten the message. Namely; to stop twitching as he had met his Final Death.

Confirming that for herself, by watching the corpse turn to ash, the Slayer's next move was a gymnastic cart-wheel off the Escalade's roof, and on to the ground. Right next to the left rear passenger door. And, with a sickening "scrunch," she tore that door off its hinges with only her right hand. With her left hand, she gestured at the back seat. . .and telekinetically drew Dracula into its vice-like grip!

"ARRRRRGH!" screamed the latter as she held him up in the direction of the sun.

"Your insatiable craving for power ends here and now," she told him (in that same multiple-sounding voice): "It cost you your childer, Marcus and Phillipe. It cost me the life of my mother. . ."

"No! !" he rasped: "We- - -have not- - -harmed her. Her- - -weak half- - -lies. . ."

". . .dead on your front seat. The victim of an undiagnosed brain aneurysm just suffered by her stronger half in Sunnydale! And relayed here via their neuro-empathic link. The Ferrula Geminiarum is useless to me, now. Which means. . .so are you and your psychotic little paramour."

Dracula's screams reached an ear-splitting crescendo as he reached the limit of his solar-tolerance and became just as big a pile of ash as the Ropen. And when Buffy locked semi-glassy eyes with her, all Drusilla could do. . .was whimper.

**PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,**

**S. F. AIRPORT HILTON**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I staggered a little, as if I were dizzy. And, for a second, I thought it might be past my feeding time. But, then I looked at Sonny, Angel, and Giles. All three of them looked as confused as I felt! So, I asked:

"Did we just experience some kind of micro-tremor?"

Giles just shook his head.

"I. . .I believe. . .we have just felt. . .one of the ripple effects. . .of the enjoining spell. All. . .of San Francisco. . .is now linked. . .to one extent or another. . ."

"With me," said a new voice.

We all looked towards the window smashed during Buffy's fight with Glordelia. And, not only were it and the other broken window miraculously intact, once more. Buffy, herself, was standing in front of it. . .as if she were the one who had put them both back together!

"Good Lord!" muttered Giles: "How on Earth. . .?"

"The enjoining has temporarily given me Leo Wyatt's orb-traveling power," she replied (in this weird-sounding tone): "As well as the accumulated knowledge of Magga, last of the Guardians. By both means, I was able to obtain this for you, Angel."

She tossed something in Angel's direction that he had no difficulty catching between the palms of his hand. And his eyebrows arched in surprise when he looked at it.

"The Ring of Amara?!"

She nodded: "It will protect you from disintegration by daylight long enough for us to do what must be done."

Whereupon, she turned into a veritable cloud of white orbs of light; blanketed Angel with them; and, then, just vanished!

**Next: the final showdown with Glordelia.**


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47.**

**By Carycomic**

** GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE,**

**SAN FRANCISCO, CA.**

Glordelia lay on her left side. Her left arm propping her up, as if she were modeling for some poor man's painting of Cleopatra.

"Isn't this a lovely view, Zeppo?" she rhetorically asked (with an exaggerated sigh of pleasure).

Xander (who was still mummy-wrapped in her black cloak) could only wriggle helpelessly, by her side, and utter muffled protests that sounded like "mfph." This, in turn, made her sight with mock-regret.

"Time's up! Looks like you'll have to sleep with the fishes."

Whereupon, she stood back up on her feet. Only kneeling long enough to pick Xander up, and horizontally hold him over head!

It was at that exact moment that Buffy and Angel orbed in.

"Well, well, well!" chanted Glordelia: "You two sure took your sweet time getting her. Where's the Dagon-sphere?"

"Right here," replied Buffy, unclenching her right hand to show the sphere resting in her palm.

Glordelia grinned with triumph.

"Good girl, Slayer! Now, toss it over the side and into the bay. Then, you and your broody stud can go home and nurse that nose cold it sounds like you've got coming."

"Not until you hand over, Xander!" Angel defiantly shouted: "That was the deal. Remember?"

"I changed my mind," Glordelia retorted: "I'm going to keep this obnoxious little cutie with me. As insurance you don't come after me, when I resume my search for the Key."

"Unacceptable," said Buffy (before adding): "Xander!"

Before the self-style goddess could utter one suitable profanity, her hostage suddenly vanished in a cloud of white lights. White lights that subsequently rematerialized in Angel's outstretched arms! At that same moment, Buffy turned her right hand right side-up. Following which, a blast of blindingly white light radiated outward from the Dagon-sphere. Completely blinding and engulfing Glordelia. . .

. . .before knocking her off the top of pylon towards the water of the bay, below.

**SAN FRANCISCO HOUSE**

**(ANGEL ISLAND)**

Precept Derek Rayne was the first to recognize the trill shrieking that startled everyone.

"It's the safe in my office. Hurry!"

The rest of his team did not need to be told twice. Indeed, security chief Nick Boyle was already second-in-line! With his nine millimeter Colt Lightweight Commander already in hand. But, when they barged through the office door, the quartet was met by the same shocking sight.

The safe door was wide open. . .with twelve year-old Katherine Corrigan kneeling before it.

"Kat?!" exclaimed her mother, Rachel: "What are you doing?"

"Just following Dad's instructions, Mom."

"And, what did he instruct you to do, sweetheart?" asked Derek.

He already half-knew the answer, seeing as how Kat was already holding "Queen Bess' Lucky Charm" in the palm of her left hand. He also knew that the girl must have been duped by some supernatural entity posing as her father. Seeing as how Patrick Corrigan had died in a car crash (along with his and Rachel's only son), four-and-a-half years earlier!

In both instances, he proved correct.

"Hello, Derek."

Rachel gasped as the spitting image of her late husband appeared right behind Kat. Gently laying his left hand on her right shoulder. And, the Precept's eyebrows instinctively arched in shock.

"Ethan?!"

"Ah! I see that old sixth sense of yours is as sharp as ever. Sorry for the morbid impersonation, Dr. Corrigan. But, I have need of this little trinket. . .which, of course, only the pure-in-heart may touch. And, when I found out the one in the museum (named for Dear Old Daddy) was a skillfully crafted fake, I knew there was only other place my dear brother could have hidden it. Sure enough; I was right!"

"Congratulations!" snapped Nick (with venomous sarcasm): "Now, be just as brilliant and tell Kat to put it back in the safe."

He aimed his semi-automatic handgun at the glamour-disguised chaos worshipper's forehead for emphasis.

"Nick, no!" exclaimed Alexandra Moreau: "You might hit Kat."

"Quite right, mon cherie," chortled Ethan: "Don't worry, though. I only have to borrow both for a _little_ while."

And, with that, he teleported away via the Umbra.

The first thing Angel did, when he and Buffy rematerialized, was to tear away the black electrician's tape from the cloak. Then, he lifted the cloak off of Xander (like a stage magician revealing a previously absent rabbit) before throwing it on to the sand behind them.

Xander fell to his on that sand. Breathing in fresh air, gasp after gasp, like a swimmer who had stayed underwater nearly ten seconds too long.

"W-W-Where. . .are. . .we?" he finally managed to wheeze.

"Nipomo Dunes State Park," replied Buffy (still sounding like an electronically garbled choir): "Where Cecil B. DeMille filmed the original, silent movie version of THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. Behold!"

Once more gesturing like Prue Halliwell, Buffy telekinetically raised a pyramid out of the sand! Albeit, a pyramid made out of stucco-painted balsa wood that the sand had carefully kept preserved.

"Follow me," she ordered: "Inside; quickly!"

No sooner had Angel and Xander complied than Glordelia reappeared.

**PRESIDENTIAL SUITE,**

**S.F. AIRPORT HILTON  
(MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.)**

As none of us wanted to just stand around, helplessly twiddling our thumbs, Oz, Giles, Sonny, and I began to discuss how we might be able to help resolve this crisis in our own small-but-collective way. Then, suddenly, Oz's head angled up towards the ceiling. Following which, he sniffed the air a couple times.

"It's Ethan!" he shouted.

We did not need anymore explanation than that. The rest of us followed him into the master bedroom. And, there, we skidded to a stop. Because, that chaos-worshipping s.o.b. had a twelve year-old girl with him! One who was innocently playing with Amy the Rat on the big bed.

"Hello, Ripper. Glad to see me, again?"


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

**by Carycomic**

"What the blazes are you up to, now, Ethan?" demanded Giles: "And, who's little girl is that?"

"Would you believe me if I said I needed someone pure-in-heart to help me save the day from Glorificus?"

"You?! Doing something so brave and unselfish? I think not."

"Yeah," I added: "That'd be like Wile E. Coyote hiring himself out as a sheepdog!"

"I think you mean 'Sam Wolf,' " Oz corrected me.

"Whatever!" shouted Sonny: "There's no way I'm letting you out of here, Rayne. Especially, with that kid! You're gonna come with me to face the judgement of the Conclave."

"Sorry, old chap! But, where I'm concerned, you'd have better luck holding on to a searing wind."

And, with that (just as Sonny, Oz, and I lunged forward), Rayne grabbed the girl in a bear hug and teleported away! Leaving the three of us in an embarrassing heap on the floor.

"Blast it!" cursed Giles: "Did you see what he was holding in his right hand as he popped out? That was Queen Bessie's Lucky Charm! I don't what he's planning to use it for. But, in his hands, it bodes no good!"

"At least we know where's he _planning_ to use it," I replied: "Or, am I the only who noticed that little slip of his tongue?"

"He's headed for Chinatown," confirmed Sonny: "And the Temple of the Searing Wind headed by Sifu Yu Nohu."

I nodded: "Care to join me in some reconnoitering?"

"You know it!"

"Count me in, too," added Oz.

**HALLIWELL MANOR  
**  
Magga looked at her old friend, the Green Lama.

"Michael St. John and two others are about to venture into a trap. A trap sprung by your old foe, Dr. Death! You must go to help them, Jethro."

"But, the augmentation spell. . .!" he began to protest.

". . .can be cast by the rest of us, just as effectively, now that we are enjoined. Now, go! Hurry!"

The veteran white mage complied.

* * * * *

**NIPOMO DUNES STATE PARK  
**  
Glordelia had but to flick an index finger, and the section of stucco-painted balsa wood before her shattered into thousands of tiny splinters.

"This?!" she exclaimed with sarcastic amazement: "This is your idea of a big barrier to keep me out? Puh-lease! ! ! I could sh. . ."

Buffy (still enjoined) held the Dagon-sphere up in her right hand, while simultaneously sweeping a horizontal arc with her left arm. Freezing Glordelia in place just the way Piper Halliwell would have!

"Get ready, Angel," she said: "The stasis won't last long."

Angel nodded: "I know what to do."

"Wait!" exclaimed Xander: "What do you know what to do? What are you planning?"

"No time," declared Buffy: "Ask Willow and the Charmed Ones. They'll explain."

Suddenly, Glordelia's body began to quiver. Like a filmed image that had been on freeze-frame resuming full movement beginning with slow motion! Angel, seeing this, swiftly ran around Glordelia on her right-hand side, before exiting the hole she had left in the pseudo-pyramid's wall. Meanwhile, Buffy calmly walked up to within arm's reach of Glordelia's face; clenched her left hand into a fist; and, then, with the most powerful upper-cut she had ever delivered to any opponent's jaw. . .

. . .she belted the egotistical brunette back through the hole for a good hundred yards, at least!

"I have SO been wanting to do that for SUCH a long time," muttered the Slayer (with a smile).

Meanwhile, during that flight, Glordelia's body literally cart-wheeled in mid-air one hundred eighty degrees. Consequently, she landed right at Angel's feet, face-first in the sand. With Angel looking down at her neck. "Game face" on.

* * * * *

**S.F. AIRPORT HILTON**

**(MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.)**

"Come on, Oz!" I snapped: "I thought you were a computer whiz."

Oz desperately leafed through the instruction manual, trying to get the gist of how to fly a Bell JetRanger helicopter (now that we were without a pilot).

"Give me a chance, okay? I mean, this isn't some first-person jet jockey video game. This is real life!"

"Then, maybe I could lend you a hand."

Sonny and I turned as one, preparing for another surprise attack. Our fangs already bared. But, when we saw the Green Lama standing next to Giles, we immediately stood down!

"How the frig did you get here?" demanded Sonny.

"Courtesy of an enjoined Magga. Now, somebody was saying something about needing a pilot?"

"Can _you_ fly this overgrown egg-beater?" I demanded.

The Green Lama just grinned: "Do bears organically fertilize forests?"

** MEANWHILE, BACK AT NIPOMO DUNES STATE PARK. . . **

Angel bent down on his right knee, steeling himself to bite the unconscious Glordelia's jugular vein. But, just as he was about to deliver that dental coup-de-grace, she suddenly rolled over on to her back and then sprang to her feet. Simultaneously gripping Angel's throat, and lifting him two feet off the ground, with just her right hand!

"Surprise! I was only playing 'possum. Now, all I have to do is wait for your girlfriend, Slutty the Vampire La. . .

The pejorative misnomer was cut off, in mid-syllable, by Buffy's orbing in behind Glordelia. Whereupon, the enjoined Slayer did a crouching sweep kick that knocked the self-proclaimed "hell goddess" flat on to her back. Allowing the former to jump on the latter's stomach and pin her to the ground. Buffy's left hand around Glordelia's throat. . .and her right fist preparing to deliver a Dagon-sphere amplified right hook.

"Now, we end this."

Yet, just as Buffy made that pronouncement, a strong wind suddenly began to whirl the sand up all around them.

**tbc  
**


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49.**

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

I couldn't help myself. I was still a little dubious about the Green Lama's ability to fly this chopper. And, I either had a bad poker face about it, or he really was able to read my mind. Because, as he coursed through the skies of San Francisco, he turned to me with a shameless grin and quipped:

"I admit it's a far cry from Phil Strange's old autogyro. But, I've taken refresher courses in piloting over the years. So, I know what I'm doing."

He then added (in a shamelessly blatant stage whisper): "I think."

**TEMPLE OF THE SEARING WIND  
**  
Ethan and Kat rematerialized upon the top step of the main entrance. The youngster still mesmerized into believing she was with her father. And, her arms still cradling the rat-like Amy Madison!

"OK, moppet," said the Cockney chaos-worshipper: "We've arrived. Time to break the spell on this poor unfortunate creature."

"How do I do that, Daddy?" wondered Kat.

"Just put her on the ground. Then, wave your pretty new trinket over her. Visualizing her as she used to look in that photograph I showed you."

"Oh, right! I almost forgot."

** MEANWHILE, AT HALLIWELL MANOR. . .  
**  
. . .the mingled voices of Magga, Brother Demetrius, Willow Rosenberg, and the Charmed Ones began to rise in volume. The enjoining spell having done its work, they were now in the middle of reading the augmentation spell. And, for this, they all concentrated on a certain mental picture. That of an adolescent girl about five years younger than Buffy. But, roughly her height. . .and with the same shade of brown hair and eyes as Angel.

It was this image that now began to take shape within the eye of a whirlwind kicking up dust devils at Nipomo Dunes State Park.

* * * * *

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.  
**  
We were about ninety seconds from touching down, right in front of that so-called "temple," with Sonny and I rubbing sun block (supplied by Oz) all over ourselves for the big sprint inside. Suddenly, however, bells and whistles began going off all over the Bell Jet Ranger's control panel!

I looked sharply at Dumont, and yelled at him.

"I thought you said you'd taken refresher courses!"

"I have!" he yelled back: "Something else has caused us to lose power. Brace yourselves!"

As I tightened my grip on my particular seat, I thought I saw a man and two girls suddenly vanish into thin air from the temple's front portico. Then, the chopper hit the heavy, lacquered wooden doors. Losing both its main rotor and its two landing skids in the process! This, of course, threw up a lot of friction sparks. Sparks which were bound to ignite the gasoline I could already smell dampening the floor of this place.

Sure enough, as soon as I had sprinted to safety with Sonny (the two of us carrying Oz between us), the chopper exploded.

The three of us hid behind the biggest pillar we could find, to protect ourselves from that massive fireball. When I finally felt it was safe enough to look up, I found that Dumont had still not rejoined us. Forcing me to wonder whether or not he had made it out of the cockpit at all!

* * * * *

The kuei-jin guarding the meditation chamber did their best to stop him. But, even with their vampirically enhanced kung fu, they were still no match for the enjoined Green Lama. Consequently, the latter used one of the former as a battering ram. Putting a hole through the two doors large enough for him to purposefully stride through.

"Nice of you to knock," said the erstwhile Dr. Death, as he slowly stood back up from his yoga lotus position.

"Where's the girl, Doc?" demanded the Green Lama: "Trust me; you do _not_ want to fool around with me in my present mood."

"What?!" exclaimed the sifu of the Searing Wind: "And deny myself the pleasure of re-enacting our own little version of the Harvard/Yale game? I think not."

"Then, prepare to get creamed, Yale."

"In your dreams, Harvard!"

* * * * *

The whirlwind had proven a fateful distraction. It allowed Glordelia enough time to regather herself. . .and lift up both her legs. Using them as a means of catapulting Buffy off of her waist and over her head! As a result, Buffy wound up landing flat on her back in the sand.

Minus the Dagon-sphere.

"Finally!" crowed Glordelia, at the top of her lungs, cradling the mystical bauble in both hands: "You put up quite a fight, Blondie. You, too, stud!"

She uttered that last part in Angel's direction. Just before back-handing him away as he tried (but failed) to sneak up behind her.

"Yet, me losing to you two was really _not_ an option. And, this will prove it!"

Glordelia put the Dagon-sphere beneath the sole of her right foot. . .and stepped on it. Naturally, the resulting burst of energy made her fly backwards! But, this time, when she sat up, there was no expression of pain or anger on her face. Merely, smug joy.

"Now, all I have to do is break your necks, and I can be on my to Chinatown to collect the Key."

"That won't be necessary, Glorious One," replied a new voice: "I have the Key, right here."

Glordelia looked behind her. There, she beheld Yu Nohu (alias Dr. Death) holding a three-bladed knife in his left hand. . .and pressing one of those blades to the throat of a fourteen year-old naked girl.

** tbc**


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50.**

**TEMPLE OF THE SEARING WIND,**

**CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO**

It began as a duel with a pair of bojitsu staffs. Dr. Death and the Green Lama trying to crack each other's skulls. But, eye-blurring as their speed would look to a third-party spectator, each combatant was skilled enough to spot the blow intended by the other. . .and evade it, more often than not. So, the Ravnos vampire who had been calling himself "Yu Nohu" decided to cheat.

He used his hard-won knowledge of Tremere sorcery to turn the staff into a kwon do!

The second he did so, Dr. Death yelled "kiai" at the top of his lungs. Using the crescent-shaped head of the Chinese pole-axe to split Jethro Dumont's staff in two, with an up-and-down slash. Followed by his use of the established momentum to spin counter-clockwise in an attempt to disembowel the Green Lama, horizontally! And, if not for the latter's reflexes being enhanced, because of the enjoining spell, the former's ploy might very well have succeeded. The Green Lama, however, was quick to prove that two could play at this game. He subsequently muttered an incantation that turned the shattered halves of his staff into a pair of Chinese broadswords!

Thereby allowing him to catch the kwon do's head. . .dead center of the criss-crossed blades.

"Tie ball game, Yale," Dumont grinned.

"Bite me, Harvard!" Dr. Death growled.

Whereupon, they pushed away from each other. Resuming their duel to the death with a much more noticeable "clang-clang-clang."

**NIPOMO DUNES STATE PARK**

Glordelia looked at the shivering youngster, kneeling on the sand.

"This?! This is the Key?"

"Her incarnated form, Your Gloriousness," replied Dr. Death: "But, while her power might be slightly curtailed in this corporeal state, I can assure you that there's still enough of it present that just one little drop of her blood will open the portal you desire! Shall I use the phubai to demonstrate my. . .point?"

He laughed at his own pun, as he used his head to indicate the three-bladed dagger in his left hand.

Glordelia shrugged: "Go ahead! Knock yourself out."

The moment she said this, "Dr. Death" dropped his disguise.

"Catch!" yelled Ethan Rayne, as he threw the phubai in Buffy's direction!

The enjoined Slayer, using Prue Halliwell's telekinesis, caused the Tibetan-made dagger to perform a veritable U-turn in mid-air! She then redirected it toward Glordelia. . ..who promptly caught between the palms of her clapping hands.

"Nice try, Blondie!" laughed the self-proclaimed hell goddess. "But, it rightfully belongs to you."

Whereupon, Glordelia spun about like a ballerina in a hurricane. Flinging the phubai right back at the Slayer. . .and into her midsection.

"BUFFY!" screamed the on-looking Xander, as he watched her sink to her knees in horrified disbelief. Yet, strangely enough,. . .

. . .the blonde Slayer just smiled.

"Oliver- - -Seidel," she muttered.

Those two strange words had no sooner left her lips than a shower of white light came down next to Angel. Subsequently taking on the form of a bald, middle-aged white man in a brown business suit. A man whose quite understandable puzzlement rapidly turned to outright horror when he saw Angel put on his "game face." Followed by the sinking of the latter's fangs into the former's neck! Thirty seconds later, Angel had the blood memories he needed.

Whereupon, the reformed vampire began chanting in a strange tongue older than Latin and Greek put together.

Almost instantly, an interdimensional portal opened. And, out of it came five pairs of snake-like tentacles that quickly ensnared Glordelia in their grip! The brunette hell goddess naturally struggled to fight her way free. But, Angel brought the wounded Buffy over to Glordelia's side, where they each grabbed a hold of one of the latter's wrists. As a result? Glordelia was distracted just enough that the tentacles succeeded in pulling the hell goddess back into the portal with them!

Unfortunately, Angel and Buffy were also drawn into the portal. And, the moment they passed its event horizon,. . .

. . .the portal closed faster than anyone could blink.

**TEMPLE OF THE SEARING WIND,**

**CHINATOWN, SAN FRANCISCO**

The second round of their duel appeared just as evenly matched as the first. For, even though Dr. Death's kwon do had a slightly longer reach, the Green Lama could still parry every thrust with one broadsword while simultaneously trying to run the vampire through with the other. Which would, of course, slow him down just long enough for the other broadsword to decapitate him.

Thereby negating his vampiric ability to regenerate.

The stalemate ended, however, when Jethro Dumont felt the sudden cessation of the enjoining spell due to his maternal granddaughter's departure from the Earthly plane. Consequently, the former dropped both swords and fell to his knees. Leaving him totally vulnerable to the kwon do's axe-head being lunged straight through him, front to back!

"Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!" chortled the old Ravnos: "Looks like Yale whips Harvard. . .once again."

He did not gloat long, though, as a werewolf in Hispo mode suddenly tackled him from his left. Knocking him to the ground. . .and decapitating him with its fangs.*

**MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.**

Giles had entrusted Oz with some of Buffy's spare wooden stakes when we took off in the chopper. And, when we crashed in the temple's lobby, Oz managed to save them before the chopper's fuel exploded. Thereby allowing him to give me and Sonny, two each.

Believe me; they came in handy, right from the get-go. Because, the kuei-jin on guard duty were quick to rally once we lost the element of surprise. Then, again, Oz was able to aid us in slaying them by switching to Krinos mode (in which form, he looked like a wolf-headed bear!). So, for a while, our fight in that temple lobby was a bit of a stalemate.

Even so, superior numbers would've inevitably won the day if not for another unexpected arrival. Daedalus of the Nosferatu! And, in the full-on combat mode of his clan, he quickly helped us over-power the remaining kuei-jin. Only when the absolutely last one had been dusted did he have the opportunity to tell us how Julian Luna had sent him, via the sewers, to aid us in this battle. Giles having informed the City Prince about it via cellphone. We then started following Oz as he followed the Green Lama's scent trail (which he had finally caught).

Unfortunately, we did not get to the end of that trail in time. As a result, we could only watch in horrified shock as the Akashic Brotherhood's most renowned white wizard. . .finally met his match.

We regained our ability to move only when Oz switched from Krinos to Hispo form. The moment he did so- -or, rather, the moment he separated Yu Nohu's head from the rest of his worthless body- -the temple's walls began vibrating and the ground began rumbling. Nobody needed to identify it as an earth tremor, as we had all resided in California long enough to know the initial signs! We couldn't leave the Green Lama behind, however. So, Daedalus ran forward. . .and broke that frigging Chinese pole axe in half.

He then gently lifted the Green Lama in both arms, before gesturing with his head for the rest of us to follow him. We did so, and subsequently found the sewer tunnel opening he had used to infiltrate the temple. We entered it as fast as possible; and a good thing, too. Because, as soon as Sonny (who'd been acting as rear guard) entered the tunnel, the temple basement's ceiling caved in!

After that, we found the cleanest tunnel intersection possible, and stopped to examine the Green Lama's wound. It was no use, though. And, even he knew it.

"The wound's. . .too mortal. . .even. . . for wizardry. But, I. . .don't mind. . .! It's been. . .a good long. . .run. And. . .my regrets. . .are few. Hopefully. . .the next. . .generation. . .will dawn. . .without any."

With that, he closed his eyes and passed on; Oz's lupine howls speaking for us all. When we got to the Haven, ten solemn minutes later, I immediately went upstairs to cellphone Giles with the bad news. And, to ask if Buffy had any better news.

Little did I know. . .

**To be concluded.**

**Mini-glossary:**

**Hispo**: the Garou form mirroring the dire wolf of prehistoric times.


End file.
